My Sister Rosalie, Book II: Lover
by geophf
Summary: Chapter Summary: So here's the chapter where I show what a take-charge woman I am. Where I show Rosalie who the boss is, and that's me, in case you were wondering. Yeah. Me. Take charge and tell Rosalie what's what! ... What? Why are you looking at me like that? It's worked before, ... right?
1. Apologia et Synopses

**Welcome** to My Sister Rosalie, Book II: Lover.

A bit of history: on December 26th, 2008 at 12:28 am – yes, very, very early that post-Christmas morning – I published chapter 1 of My Sister Rosalie, Book I: Captor ... and then immediately wrote the next ten chapters of that story.

You could say that this story consumed me – just a bit – back then.

You could say.

Now, My Sister Rosalie, Book II: Lover.

It's been, oh, seven years in the making.

I wonder how long Book III will take.

Enough sadness.

As I say: welcome. But, this is MSR ("My Sister Rosalie"), so the welcome is very much tempered by what is to come.

And what is to come? More of the same?

Don't you wish.

No.

MSR, Book I was the honeymoon: Bella and Rosalie discovered who they were and, importantly, who they weren't. This was a surprise to both; ... a pleasant surprise? For one of them, perhaps.

Bella rediscovered her strength and confidence, or: that she even had these things. Rosalie, on the other hand, discovered that her own strength and confidence – things she trusted in herself – were a complete sham. So Bella went from very much lost to finding her center, both in herself and with Rosalie, and Rosalie discovered that everything she held in high esteem, even after she lost everything, the very things that kept her going: her will, her determination, her perfection, all were empty and meaningless.

These were not surprises Rosalie liked. At all.

And the 'good news' for Rosalie? The one thing waiting for her at the end of Book I, Bella, was the one thing she vowed never, ever to taint with her own fallen nature.

This was the good news of MSR, Book I.

And there is Bella, telling Rosalie to trust her, and there is Rosalie, having to be strong, and right, and perfect, because – _damnit! –_ somebody has to! So even as the weight of these discoveries are crushing Rosalie, she still is Atlas, trying to hold up her world, her perfect world as she sees it, even as it crushes her, even as her perfect façade cracks right in front of the one person she can't afford to show what she really is.

And I say, with all that, that Book I is the honeymoon.

Why?

Have you ever experience first love? When you loved somebody so much everything else faded away? Food, how it tastes, friends, and what they say, even the air doesn't matter: you could die, right now, but you're so in love with her, and she, with you, that nothing and nobody else matters.

Well, the first blush of love fades, doesn't it? Or mellows into maturity, right?

And then what happens?

Well, then you have to do the laundry, and study, and eat, and hang with your friends, now, more, don't you? And not just you and she, she and you, it's now everybody else and everything else, ... and her, too, ... maybe.

Life is infinitely cruel in that it gives those new lovers a break, yes, but then, eventually, inextricably, life worms its way back into your intimate little arrangement, doesn't it? That's what life does: it works its way back into your ... well: life.

MSR, Book I was Bella and Rosalie's honeymoon, a restful, quiet, peaceful, special time for them.

No, really: it was.

MSR, Book II: Lover, Bella is in love with Rosalie, and now she has to deal with the terrible consequences of what being in love with somebody, something, so different than her, that ...

Like you: you're in love with Her, and now you have to deal with the terrible consequences and compromises of what it means to be in love with somebody so different than you, don't you?

... well, now, Bella has to deal with this, this thing called 'Love.'

And Rosalie does now, too.

This is their 'happily ever after,' and Bella thinks she knows this will be hard.

She doesn't have a clue.

Does she.

The honeymoon is over, ladies and gentlemen, MSR, Book II is time for Bella and Rosalie to wake up and smell the coffee, then do the dishes, then deal with each other, ... and with life, and everything life throws at them.

Are they strong enough?

We shall see.

But first, Bella has to figure out a certain 'thing,' and she hasn't had any luck prodding 'this' in a particular direction so far to get to 'this.' 'This': whatever it is that Bella won't name, and whatever this is that Rosalie is avoiding, for whatever reasons she's avoiding it. Perhaps Bella's unlucky in this. Perhaps 'luck' has nothing to do with 'this.'

 **Warning**

Book I was that sweet book where Bella gets to discover Rosalie and Rosalie gets to discover Bella in their safe zone, and the girls do what the girls do: which is to talk, and to fight, and to talk some more. It's all very ... sweet ... phenomenologically-speaking. Book I was sweet and _pritteh, o so pritteh!_

Book II may have a bit less sweetness. In fact, Book II is not pretty: it's messy and it gets ugly. Things will happen in Book II that did not happen in Book I.

Did you know Rosalie is a murderer?

I just mention that in passing.

So: warning. There may be unflinching moments here, both good, bad, and sad, bitter and terrible in this book and in the novellas attached to this book.

If you are looking for a fa-la-la, tra-la-la, Bella-loves-Rosalie dénouement to Book I, then Book II may be a hard, bitter pill to swallow.

Or Bella and Rosalie could live happily ever after, as they do in this: book II.

This is Bella and Rosalie's happily ever after, as they deal, and put up, with each other, or try to, and take what life throws at them, ... or try to.

Did you know Rosalie doesn't 'deal' with things well? She tends to impose her own will, regardless of the consequences, doesn't she. And that has worked so well, hasn't it.

I mention this observation in passing. There is no implication of foreshadowing here. At all.

Whatsoever.

 **Synopses**

 **Chapter 1** – "Apologia et Synopses": This introduction ... that utterly fails to introduce any of what follows.

 **Chapter 2** – "Bacon": 'This _is_ 1934, Bella,' Rosalie primly informed me. Yes, I know what year it is, thank you. I'm not some three year old. But then she told me something else, and it was she who was the one who was hurting.

 **Chapter 3** – "Reliable": "Pretty reliable" Rosalie called me. Then she explained that I was 'pretty' and 'reliable,' a wry smirk wreathing her face. See, this was a joke from Rosalie. Or was it?

 **Chapter 4** – "Three Little Words": Three little words. Why are they so hard to say right now?

 **Chapter 5** – "Sleeping Arrangements": Something was up. I just never in my life imagined it would be this.

 **Chapter 6** – "Baby": I'm sorry. You were expecting Bella to write something here, weren't you? Well, you're not going to get that now. Or ever again. Because she's dead. She's _dead_ now. And she so wanted me to be happy. _This is 'happy'?_ God damn it, I knew this would happen! God damn me. God damn my soul to everlasting torment!

 **Chapter 7** – "Now": So. This is what it's like to be dead. Nice. Kinda borin'. Except that Rosalie's still bugging me. Can't get away from her, even in death. I thought this was heaven. Maybe I'm wrong. Maybe I'm in hell.

 **Chapter 8** – "Savior": "And the lived happily ever after, ..." Actually, I've never seen Rosalie so happy to see me... except for the little fact that I can't see. At all. That's a problem.

 **Chapter 9** – "You": 'Du' in German means 'you.' It just means 'you' ... unless you say it like somebody from the Old Country, when they are saying it to somebody they love, then it gets really embarrassing for everybody else, and you have to look away. But Rosalie didn't say it that way, did she.

 **Chapter 10** – "Rosalie Hale is the Worst": This is big. Rosalie asked me to trust her and I did, with my life, and, well, even more than that. But then why won't she trust me? I can't hurt her! Why won't she trust me with just three little words, but no. After this special moment we shared, why couldn't she ... I have never been more hurt in all my life. Chapter is lemon-scented.

 **Chapter 11** – "That Went Well:" Have you ever been scared to face the morning? Now that we've done ... it, we can't go back, can we? I mean, Rosalie can't ... she just can't ... she won't ... I mean, ... what if she regrets ... it? Doing it with ... me? Oh, God, I'm so scared.

 **Chapter 12** – "Breakfast in Bed": So here's the chapter where I show what a take-charge woman I am. Where I show Rosalie who the boss is, and that's me, in case you were wondering. Yeah. Me. Take charge and tell Rosalie what's what! ... What? Why are you looking at me like that? It's worked before, ... right?


	2. Bacon

**Chapter Summary:** 'This _is_ 1934, Bella,' Rosalie primly informed me. Yes, I know what year it is, thank you. I'm not some three year old. But then she told me something else, and it was she who was the one who was hurting.

* * *

I woke, my throat so badly parched, which was bad because my splitting headache made me want to scream. I didn't want to do that. Why? Because I didn't want Rosalie to know how much pain I was in. If she knew that, then that would just give her one more reason to say this couldn't work.

This. Us.

I looked through interlaced fingers to the light filtered by the 'curtains' Rosalie hung for my sake, and I wanted to scream, again. You see, the light really hurt my eyes, which were dry and crusty. It wasn't just my eyes hurting, however: everywhere my body touched the sheets, I felt the cold clamminess of not-yet-dried sweat sticking to me, like hundreds of needles irritating my skin.

My naked skin, as had been happening these days, my clothes lay torn into tatters at the foot of the bed, Rosalie's 'clothes' were there, too, similarly torn, as if ripped apart by a savage beast.

That savage beast was me, ... according to Rosalie. That is: if she were to be believed.

What the hell was I doing at nights? Was it really me? I had my doubts, but looking at Rosalie's face, her seeing my pain that I could not hide, and me, seeing hers, that she couldn't hide from me, my disbelief just evaporated. Rosalie had lied to me before, but she was a terrible liar. When it came to me, she could say whatever she wanted, but I could hear her heart, a heart she said she no longer had.

And her heart said this: if she were having her way with me at night while I slept, she surely wasn't enjoying it. And if I were having my way with her, she wasn't enjoying that, either.

Not at all.

So why did she sleep with me ... no: that's not right. She doesn't sleep. Ever. I slept, she lay with me, and as I slept, as she lay next to me, I did things to her, to ... us.

Why did she put up with this, when, clearly, she didn't have to?

That is to say: when, clearly, she didn't want to.

Well, one reason was that she'd have to put up with my begging before bed, and then with my begging and bossing her into that bed. She withstood that before, though, so why not anymore?

Especially when she wouldn't admit that she loved me.

Why?

I dragged my feet from the clingy sheets, rotating my body to a sitting position. Mistake. I instantly wanted to puke, or, more accurately, dry-heave, as my stomach was a empty cavern inside my body, trying to eat me from the inside-out.

 _"Ahhhhwwwwnnnn!"_ I groaned involuntarily, and I wanted to press against my temples and hold my guts in at the same time. My rib cage didn't seem to be up to the job, so I wrapped my arms around my sides, hugging myself; the pain making me shameless of my nakedness.

Rosalie looked across the cabin at me, pitilessly, then filled a mug with water and sat by my side. "This isn't working, Bella," she said grimly.

I took the mug from her. "Thanks," I grunted.

I didn't say what I was thanking her for: the mug in her hand, or her opinion.

Her wrong opinion.

I grabbed her hand and pressed it to my right temple, then used it to pull me into her, resting my head on her shoulder.

"What's not working," I gasped, then took a quick gulp of water to wet my parched throat, "is that every morning I wake, you're on the other side of the cabin. It's like you're avoiding me!"

"Perhaps I am," she replied quietly.

"'Perhaps' ain't in it!" I answered back with heat.

Her calm tone annoyed me. And it was the morning. _And_ I hadn't had coffee in, like, forever.

I was not happy with this last fact.

"Ye feel my head," I added, eyes now closed, taking another sip of water. "It's on _fire,_ okay, Rosalie? And you think would it kill you just to stay with me, please, and cool my head when I wake up, but no! Four days in a row now, is it? Could you do that, please, and help me, huh?"

I suppose I could've said that more nicely, but I really was in pain, and the sudden relief of her beside me didn't make me feel better ... well, it did, but it also made me angry as why she couldn't see this! Why was she so darn anxious to get away from me?

"It wouldn't kill _me_ to stay with you as you woke," Rosalie said. "But it's killing _you."_

"Oh, for goodness ...!" I began.

Rosalie cut me right off. "Me getting you the water is helping you much more than staying in bed and watching your face twist up in agony as you wake, Bella," Rosalie said, her own irritation showing. "Or did you think of that?"

I didn't.

And I didn't like how the water helped, a lot, just as she said.

"So which would you prefer, Bella?" Rosalie said, her voice level, but that superior tone of hers seeping in despite her best efforts to sound o-so-reasonable.

"Both!" I muttered, not cowed at all, and still angry.

But she explained her side to me, which was a step forward – a huge step forward for her if I were honest with myself – and it made sense.

To her.

To her because she only saw things her way.

"I want both," I whispered to her shoulder. "You can get me the water, but you can be here with me when I wake up, okay, Rosalie? I was ten years old when Ma left and I saw Pa just fall apart, even though he tried not to show it, and he needed help to get going in the morning. I'm _not_ a morning person, not at all, but I made it work. I made him breakfast, packed his lunch and got him out the door in the morning so he could do his job. I was ten years old, Rosalie. And I've done that every day since, and ..." I sighed and two tears fell.

I hated my tears, but Rosalie didn't. She gave me permission to cry: she couldn't anymore. She didn't have tears to cry anymore. So sometimes I cried for her.

Even if she wouldn't admit that.

"And ..." I said, "and, so, ... you can make it work, too, huh? And ... _comfort me,_ Rosalie. Your closeness _comforts_ me, and when you pull away, it _hurts, okay?"_

"No, Bella," Rosalie sighed regretfully, "my closeness is killing you." She paused, considering: "I just don't think ..."

"Then _don't!"_ I snarled. I took a small sip of air, trying to calm my boiling rage. "Don't think. I'll handle the thinking here, you just be here for me, okay?"

"Bella ..." Rosalie said.

"Hush your mouth!" I shouted.

I wasn't doing a good job controlling my anger after all. And I always thought that Rosalie was the one that flew off the handle, but here I was, all surly this morning. And here Rosalie was, all calm.

She did hush. And she did hold me.

Two more tears fell.

Angry as I was at her, I couldn't help it: I love her so much it physically hurt.

And she said she could never love me. We were so different, she and I. She was this immortal, heartless monster that could never love.

And all I could do was love her.

I sniffled.

She sighed.

 _Great._ I thought bitterly.

...

Breakfast.

Oh, my God! Breakfast!

 _"Orange juice!"_ I exclaimed.

Rosalie had oranges – _fresh oranges! –_ and hand-squeezed me orange juice from them.

"Where did you get those?" I said wide-eyed, but didn't wait for her answer as she set the glass in front of me, gulping down the juice greedily.

Do you know what fresh orange juice tastes like?

No. You have _no_ idea, so don't even try to tell me, because I know. This was like the first time I ever tasted real orange juice, and it was tart and sweet: heaven in a glass. It was so full of liquid goodness, it was like I was drinking from a river in heaven.

An orange river.

Rosalie watched me, amused, but trying not to show it.

"This is 1934, Bella," she explained condescendingly. "We are in the Twentieth Century, don't you know. They do have green houses where they grow produce, you know."

"'Hot houses,'" I corrected her, then extended my glass: "More?"

"To-mey-to; to-mah-to," she sing-songed dismissively, barely considering my retort, but I did see she was secretly pleased with my big-eyed request.

I didn't do the big-eyes on purpose. Honest.

She took my glass and began squeezing an orange. The juice burst right through its skin, right through her fingers, making me a fresh glass of juice, Rosalie-style, as she cooked me breakfast.

I looked over her shoulder at the stove-top as she flipped the eggs.

"Where did you get the bacon?" I wondered, then added quickly: "And don't tell me it's 1934, please; I know that already."

"You figured that out yourself, then, did you?" she smirked, serving me breakfast on a big, hot plate, right from the stove, placing my glass at my setting with orange-y fingers.

She draped herself over her chair regally, looking every part a queen, even in her casual posture.

I dug in without ceremony. I was _starved._

Rosalie watched me, bemused.

"I killed pigs," she mentioned in passing as I ate.

"Huh?" I gasped around a mouthful of eggs and bacon.

Rosalie smiled sadly. "Edward and I ... we ... I practiced on pigs, seeing how long they lasted before they expired. I did that, practicing on pigs, so I wouldn't kill Royce in an instant."

She looked away. "I wanted him to last and last and last ... and he did. Boy, did he last!"

She looked back at me quickly.

"Sorry," she said apologetically.

I realized I was staring at her with my mouth hanging open, knife and fork in nerveless fingers.

I shut my mouth and swallowed quickly, a too-big bite sliding down my constricted throat.

Rosalie looked me up and down, then frowned and shook her head. "Shit," she said angrily, and wouldn't look at me.

I put my knife and fork down and left my place, going to her, and sat myself on her lap.

"Hey," I said, and kissed her cheek.

 _Oops!_ I thought. _"Bleh!"_ I said quickly. "Sorry!" I added as I wiped the egg from my lips off her marble cheek.

Rosalie ignored my faux-pas. It were as if it didn't even happen. She was too busy lost in her own world, beating herself up.

"I don't know why I said that!" she muttered angrily. She wouldn't look at me. "It's just that ... I don't have anyone to ... I don't have ..."

She stopped, then closed her mouth tightly, grinding her teeth.

"Hey," I said. "You have me now."

She risked a glance at me.

"No, I don't," she said.

"Yes, you do!"

Shoot. That came out a bit more forcefully than how I wanted it to.

She did look at me now, though.

"Bella," she said, "no, I don't. I don't want to ... tell these things to you. I don't want to corrupt you with what I've seen, what I've done, ..." she looked away and added quietly, "... what I am."

I looked at her levelly, trying to reach her, but I couldn't.

God! She pissed me off so much sometimes. "Oh, because I'm so perfect, is that it?"

Rosalie looked at me. "No, because you're so ... Bella, because you're so good."

"Oh, _please!"_ I snorted.

"Because, ... it's not because you are so perfect, Bella. I am. So I know what this is, being perfect and inalterable: frozen in time forever by fate. I don't want that for you. You're imperfect. You have a heart that beats, and cares, and changes with time for the good or for the ill. And what do I do now? I drag you down with my darkness, and I..."

She looked away. "I don't want to do that. Ever."

I blew out a long, ragged sigh. "You... _don't!"_ I whispered fiercely, and I wrapped my arms around her neck and hugged her for all I was worth.

...

"Bella," Rosalie said.

I was floating.

"Yeah, ...?"

I actually was floating in her arms; the world moved around us, but it didn't matter. And we didn't even kiss. Did you notice that? I noticed that. Just holding onto her, being with her, and it was like I was elevated to this place where nothing in the world mattered to me.

Just her.

Rosalie set me down in my chair. She carried me as if I were a feather.

"Finish your breakfast," she said.

She extricated herself from my arms with the lightest of touch: her arms, holding my arms, then: her arms, letting my arms go.

She sat back down at her seat.

A million miles away from me.

It took me a moment to realize I had arms and how they worked.

I looked at Rosalie forlornly.

The slightest smirk ghosted her lips, she raised her eyebrows at me. _Any time now,_ her eyebrows said as she glanced down at my breakfast plate.

I looked down at my plate, carefully picked up my knife and fork, and resumed eating. What did something like 'breakfast' matter, anymore? The only reason I put fork to mouth now was sitting across the table from me.

Not next to me.

But how could I say that, without sounding like a complete idiot?

I ate breakfast in a subdued silence.


	3. Reliable

**Chapter summary:** "Pretty reliable" Rosalie called me. Then she explained that I was 'pretty' and 'reliable,' a wry smirk wreathing her face. See, this was a joke from Rosalie. Or was it?

* * *

Breakfast eaten. Teeth brushed.

What now?

I put the moves on Rosalie, of course. What would you do? Why waste time, right?

I sashayed on up to her like nobody's business.

She was at the door in a heartbeat.

"Rosalie," I said, hurt and confused, "what are you doing?"

"I have to go," she said. The words were ripped out of her. "I have to hunt. I have to ..."

"Run away?" I asked.

"No," she said quickly. But she wouldn't look at me.

"Rosalie," I said. "Why are you scared of me?"

"I'm not," she said, still not looking at me.

"Liar," I said. She did look at me at that. "You're a scared, little chicken, and you're not fooling anybody, particularly not me. Look," I implored, "I'm not gonna hurt ya."

 _In fact,_ I thought, _quite the opposite._

Rosalie's hand rested on the door. But she didn't open the door. She didn't leave.

"That's not what I'm scared of, Bella," Rosalie said.

Well, at least she admitted she was scared of something.

"What are you scared of, then?" I said.

"If I stay," she said, "I'll kill you."

"No, you won't," I said confidently.

"Bella," she said, "you don't know what it's like to be me."

"Yes, I do," I said.

Rosalie _tsk_ ed angrily. "You just don't get it! I want you ... _so much,_ and ..."

"I want you, too, Rosalie," I said in a small voice. "Do you ever think that? I want you so bad, and you keep leading me on, you keep ... taking so good care of me, Rosalie! ... and then you keep running away. As soon as I try to get close to you, you run away. How do you suppose that makes me feel, huh?"

"Safe," Rosalie said. "Safe ... and alive. That's much better than the alternative," she added archly.

"Alone?" I said.

"No. Dead," Rosalie said. "Dead after a very brief and intense period of agony of knowing that I'm killing you, and me knowing nothing: just a very intense ecstasy, and then, later, me finding you, dead, in my arms. That. You want that?"

"No..." I said.

"Well, then," Rosalie replied, as if that settled the matter.

It didn't. Not in my book.

"Look," I said quickly, before she make her rapid _'exeunt,'_ as it were, Miss Shakespeare, herself. "Rosalie, stop. I don't want it that way, and it doesn't have to be that way, okay? You're scared, and you want to run away. I get that, but ... is running away going to solve anything?"

"It's going to keep you alive," Rosalie said.

I rolled my eyes and _tsk_ ed. "And you safe, right?"

Rosalie looked puzzled, her eyebrows coming together. "Keep you safe, you mean."

"No," I said angrily, _"you_ safe. You get to run away, and keep yourself away from my apparently o-so-womanly wiles, and not have to dare risking opening up even the slightest crack in that armor surrounding your heart, huh?"

Rosalie bit her lip and looked away at that.

"Ah!" I said triumphantly: "Ha! I got you there, didn't I?"

Rosalie looked back to me then.

She hates to be challenged. I didn't keep score, as it were, but she surely did.

And she didn't like losing. Ever.

But this wasn't a game of win or lose to me, either: this was for real.

"You're wrong," she said. "I don't have a heart to keep safe."

"Then stay!" I said. "If I can't ... okay, seduce you, Miss Heartless, then you're perfectly safe staying here, because you can resist my sorry little attempts to capture your heart because you don't have one, right? by your own admission! ... Or," I added slyly, "run away and protect that fragile heart of yours that you do have. But you'd better admit it before you leave through that door!"

Rosalie glared at me.

"Am I right, or am I right?" I demanded.

I was right. I knew it. _She_ knew it. She just wouldn't admit it: not to me, anyway, and probably not even to herself.

But being right? I wasn't winning this fight. Not for her heart. And that's what mattered to me.

"You're wrong," Rosalie said resolutely.

But maybe I heard a waver in her resolve? Maybe I put it there, because, just maybe, she was saying that because that's what she had to say? Or maybe it was because she didn't know what else to say?

I don't know.

I did know one thing: she was losing. But instead of me winning, I was losing, too: I was losing her.

"Then prove me wrong," I tried desperately, "and stay!"

Rosalie looked at me quickly, then looked away, just as quickly, her hand resting on the door handle. It was her anchor, I saw: her out. If things got to be just too much, she could always leave. That's what I saw in her clinging to her one out.

Her one escape from this. From me.

"And do what?" she asked quietly.

"Nothing!" I said quickly. "We don't have to do anything!"

Wrong answer.

I spoke too quickly, giving any answer that worked for me.

This didn't work for her, not at all.

You see, Rosalie is the kind of person who needed some structure, all the time: something telling her what she was supposed to be doing, and if there wasn't a structure there, she made one, or forced one, more accurately, to be there, so that she always knew what to do.

Doing 'nothing'? That was scary for Rosalie, because that meant she may actually have to open up to me. And we can't have that, now can we?

I sighed. "Look," I said, "we could, I don't know, read, or something, and you can sit on your side of the table and I can sit on mine, and I promise I won't put the moves on you or bug you or anything, okay? Just stay, okay, for a change and give it a try, for goodness sake, that's all I'm asking! Just give it a try."

Rosalie considered this.

I didn't see what the big deal was, but I forced myself to keep my big mouth shut. Nothing like me giving her reasons to run away because I was running my mouth.

Rosalie looked at me. "That's all your asking," she confirmed.

 _"Yes!"_ I said, almost shouting with relief.

"And you promise you're not going to try anything underhanded?" she demanded.

I placed my hand over my heart: "Paragon of virtue," I said, "that's me."

Rosalie's jaw worked. "Actually," she said grudgingly, "you are."

I bit my lip. I wanted to scream: _'Sooooo...?'_ but instead I waited as patiently as I could.

Funny how you never know how impatient you are, until you really, really need to be patient.

Rosalie's hand came off the door handle.

I almost peed myself with relief, and I don't think my legs were up for holding me up for much longer.

Rosalie stalked past me, muttering, a dark cloud above her head.

Did I gloat? Oh, no! I didn't dare!

... Besides, I was about ready to pass out from relief.

Winning a fight with Rosalie? It didn't feel like victory; no: it felt more like a very scared, nervous, maybe relief of: 'Did I win this one? I don't know. Did I? Is she going to bolt? Is she going to scream at me?'

That's what winning a fight with Rosalie was like.

Rosalie grabbed her books, sat at the table, and started scribbling furiously on a notepad, her shoulders hunched, her head in her books, clearly furious with this arrangement she found herself in.

I staggered to my chair, on the far side of the table, I'll have you know, so I had to pass by Miss Deadly Dangerous, and then I sunk down into my chair and breathed out a huge sigh of relief.

Rosalie glanced up from her books. "Water?" she asked in a surly tone.

"I'll get it," I said quickly.

Rosalie harrumphed and was in motion before I could blink. She didn't zip about, as was her way, as if the end of the world was nigh upon us, but she moved with determination, and a glass of water was at my place on the table.

Rosalie flitted to the bookshelf and pulled down the anthology, putting it next to my glass, then returned to her seat, resuming her reading and writing.

"Not Jane Austen?" I asked, a bit surprised.

Rosalie grunted dismissively. "You need to read something besides that, I'm thinking."

"You tellin' me what I can read now?" I demanded hotly.

It's not that I didn't agree, it's just the principle of the thing. I mean, could I read Jane Austen for the rest of my life? Maybe. But who was she to tell me what I was supposed to read?

"Bella, ..." Rosalie said. Then she looked away for a moment. "I'm here. Do you want to fight me the whole time?"

Now I was the one who looked away. "No," I said embarrassed.

"Because if that's what you want to do, ..."

"I said, 'no'!" I shouted.

"Okay, then," Rosalie said reasonably, and returned to her studies.

I looked down at the anthology and flipped through a few pages, but I couldn't see a word. Or, more accurately, I saw lots of words, but none of them meant anything to me. I was so ... _infuriated_ with Rosalie Hale and her pointing out that I was picking fights with her all the time when I _wasn't!_

I shut the book and looked up at Rosalie. She was absorbed in what she was doing. It was like I wasn't even here.

I got up out of my chair, and went to her.

Her whole posture tightened up more and more as I approached her. I ignored that and sunk into her lap, cross-wise.

"I thought you promised you weren't going to be putting the moves on me, as you called it," Rosalie said quietly.

But she stopped her o-so-fascinating work. I peeked. I couldn't make head-nor-tails of what she was reading or writing. It wasn't in English, I could tell that much. It was German, I guess, but there were also weird symbols on it.

Whatever. It didn't matter.

"Yeah," I said.

"'Yeah,' ..." she echoed dubiously, "but?"

"But I need a hug," I said.

Rosalie sighed, put down her pencil, her last straw she was grasping at, trying to do her work and pretend I didn't exist, then she gathered me up in her arms, and gave me a hug.

...

"So," I said softly, "watcha workin' on?"

It was ... _so_ much better being cradled in Rosalie's arms. She was a solid stone, cold as ice, but in her embrace, I wasn't cold. I was safe and warm, and ... loved. That's what it felt like, and it was impossible to be angry at her. Impossible, I tell you.

"It's a thesis to be presented to the American Mathematical Society on new developments contra the consistency of the _Principia Mathematica,"_ Rosalie said.

"Oh," I said.

That was about all I could contribute to that conversation.

"So," I said after a while. "You're good in math?"

"Does this surprise you?" Rosalie asked back.

I bit my lip. "I guess not, I suppose."

Rosalie was silent.

"When is it?" I asked.

"In three weeks."

"Oh," I said. "Where?"

"Boston," she said.

"Oh," I said.

Suddenly, my heart was thudding away in my chest. Rosalie, in Boston, three weeks from now.

Suddenly, I couldn't bear the thought of thinking what that could mean.

"Oh," I said again. I swallowed. "Convenient."

"Bella," Rosalie chided.

"What?"

"You don't have to be like that. It's not like I just suddenly planned this to get away from you," she said. "Papers have to be peer-reviewed before being submitted, and the review process takes upwards of up to a year. I submitted this work a year ago after I earned my PhD in Mathematics, and, of course, this situation arose, so I'd present _in absentia._ I'm just reviewing my arguments, looking for gaps in my analysis, for surely my peers are. Post doctorate work can be dicey, you know, as it's you against the committee, and then, once presented, the whole society weighs in, both for and against your position."

"Oh," I said humbly.

I didn't understand a word of what she said.

"So you're not leaving for Boston now?" I queried, just to be sure I understood that part.

"Not today," Rosalie said, her voice probably matching the subtle smirk painted across her perfect face.

"Nor tomorrow?" I checked.

"Probably not," she said easily. She paused. "Miss me if I did?"

Hm. Smack her, or no?

Why did I have to have this debate so often these days?

So I decided just go with the truth this time. "Terribly," I said. "Don't you know that?"

Rosalie was quiet, musing, then she said: "I have it from a pretty reliable source, that yes, this would be so."

She picked me up and put me back into my chair, returning to hers.

 _"'Pretty reliable'?"_ I demanded, miffed.

"Yup," she said easily, now back enthroned in her position of authority at the head of the table, "you are pretty, and you are reliable."

"Ha. Ha." I laughed humorlessly. But then I blinked. "You think I'm reliable?"

Rosalie rolled her eyes at me, but then she smirked. "At stumbling into the stove with alarming regularity? Yes."

 _"Hmmphf!"_ I snarled angrily at her, seeing red, and crossed my arms and stuck out my lower lip, turning my whole body away from her with one violent jerk.

"... And for a girl of all of ten years of age, holding what's left of her family together, you don't need me to tell you of both your reliability and your dependability, now, do you, Bella?" Rosalie said quietly from across the table.

I blinked in surprise.

Was this The Rosalie Hale speaking?

No. Not the cold, callous, sarcastic, jaded Rosalie Hale. It couldn't be.

I looked to her for confirmation. Did she just say that? Or did I just want to hear it from her, from _anybody,_ so badly that I imagined it?

Rosalie's face was a stone, impassive, not giving away a thing.

She returned to her books and resumed scratching away at her notes.

I watched her in silence, then after a while I picked up my book again.

I couldn't see the words at all now. Everything was all blurry for some stupid reason.

How did these tear stains get on this page? I wondered, befuddled.


	4. Three Little Words

**Chapter Summary:** Three little words. Why are they so hard to say right now?

* * *

Lunch.

The rest of the day went easily, Rosalie working, and me reading. The usual stuff happened for a usual day. I wanted to take care of the house as much as I could, so I helped with preparing lunch and cleaning up after, washing the dishes, then, the walk the outhouse and back, after that, stoking the fire.

Just, you know, a normal day ... for us.

Rosalie was ever solicitous. She seemed absorbed in her work, but as soon as I shifted in my seat, she'd check to be sure I was okay. When I got up to do stuff, like stoke the fire, she was right there. She offered to prepare lunch, then, after to do the dishes. She walked out with me when I fetched wood for the fire. She offered to do all of it, but I said no.

I mean, was I here in this or not? Was I equal, or not? If Rosalie did everything, then, really, what was I here for?

I mean, there's the whole her dragging me out here in the first place and never letting me go ...

Yes, there was all that.

Really, there was no 'equals.' I was her prisoner, even though she didn't treat me like that at all now, so now I was her 'guest.' No equals there. Then there was the whole she could lift a tree right up out of the ground and then tear it apart, and me ...?

I didn't know if my throwing arm was all that good. I'll just leave it at that.

So, yeah: we were 'equals,' according to Rosalie, but the only thing we were equals in was ...

Well: nothing, insofar as I could see.

Intellectually?

 _Please!_ Don't make me laugh.

Yeah, we were equals, all right.

So. I wanted to help earlier this week, and that failed so terribly that it ...

... well, it lead to where we are now: sisters, and now ... this.

Whatever this is.

I kind of liked 'this.'

I kind of think Rosalie likes this, too ... although she'll never admit it.

The big dummy. She actually is kind of stupid that way, always making things hard for herself, no matter what. It's like she does that on purpose: _Oh, how can I make my life miserable for me today?_

It's like she finds ways to do that, and isn't happy unless she's cursing something about her life.

You really have to hand it to her.

Well, that's her problem, and it's a big one. Mine is that I'm sick and tired of being the third wheel on a bicycle, but Rosalie wasn't helping here. It was up to me, as I saw it. I said I wanted to help, and well, by gum, I'm helping, today, and Rosalie just had to put up with me helping, because I was just sick and tired of being waited on hand and foot. She can do that some, but I'd better start pulling my weight, not to make things easier for Rosalie – obviously, they didn't: she got nervous whenever I got close to the stove, for goodness sake! – but to make things better for me. I was either this helpless waif, always being rescued, or I wasn't.

I wanted to be the 'I wasn't;' if you please, and thank you.

So the day passed that way. Her working, me reading and taking control of the household management. And despite Rosalie's earlier misgivings, it passed _easily_ and it passed _fast!_

Night fell – _vtt! –_ just like that, and it was getting on time for supper, I guess. I hardly noticed the time until Rosalie got up and started lighting lamps. I looked up from my book, smiled at her, and returned to reading.

That's when it struck me.

"Oh! ..." I said, shocked.

Rosalie turned from the stove, blinking in surprise. "What is it?" she asked in alarm.

"Oh, my God!" I exclaimed, looking right back at her. My face felt numb from shock.

Rosalie left the stove quickly and was at my side in an instant. She pushed the table back, just with her body – okay, if you must know: she shoved it away with her butt, okay? _Jeez!_ – so that she could face me. Her hand rested on my forehead, normally cold, was warmed by the stove, just a bit, but still hard and perfectly smooth.

She looked at me in askance.

I looked up at her, sad, ... sad and embarrassed: ashamed.

"Bella...?" Rosalie began to look really concerned, so that I wondered how this all looked to her.

"No, Rosalie, it's just that ..." I said.

"Breathe, Bella," Rosalie said.

"No," I said, just overwhelmed. "I just realized..."

But I couldn't go on, overcome by this realization.

Rosalie squatted down beside me so that we were eye-to-eye. I took her hand off my head and held onto it for dear life.

"This whole day passed," I whispered, "and I haven't said 'I love you' to you, not once today."

Rosalie blinked, surprised, then relief flooded her face.

"Ah," she said, "that. I thought you were having a seizure!"

"No!" I said forcefully, "you don't understand! Not once, you hear me ..."

"No, I hear you, Bella, and I do understand," Rosalie said, a smile beginning to form on her lips.

"No! Lemme finish!" I shouted.

Rosalie was quiet, obviously biting her tongue, and not quite hiding her smirk.

This irritated me no end. I took deep, calming breaths.

Rosalie waited.

"Not once," I said softly, "not once do I remember Ma ever saying to Pa that she loved him. I guess ... I guess that was fitting, because ... I think she didn't. And ... but ... not once do I remember ever hearing Pa saying that he loved Ma, and ... and ... he still loves her, but he never said it, and his heart is all broke."

I swallowed and looked away, then I forced myself to look back at Rosalie in the eye, holding onto her hand like it was the only thing in the world that kept me alive.

"And I swore to myself I'd _never_ end up like that... I'd rather die alone than live in a loveless, lifeless ... _grey_ ... well, marriage, so I knew I was never getting married because no boy in our town..."

I stopped. I looked away. I had lost my way, and now I was getting more confused.

"What I mean," I said, "is that ... I don't want that. I don't want that to happen, ever. And ... you. You deserve better. After all you've been through and ... you're just ..."

"Bella," Rosalie interrupted gently. "What's done is done. Don't burden yourself with how you think I should be treated."

I looked at her at that. "But I do burden myself with you, Rosalie. Don't you get that? I ... I can't breathe with the thought of you ..."

I pursed my lips, and looked up at the ceiling for help. "How do I put it?" I asked her.

Now Rosalie looked away, shaking her head, frowning. "I know how to put it. You want me here; you want me happy."

"Yes," I said, "exactly!"

Rosalie stood and took her hand back.

That about crushed my heart to a pulp.

"A fool's errand," Rosalie said firmly. "If you place your happiness in another, you are destined to be disappointed, and sorely at that."

I looked away. I couldn't look at her. "Then I'm a fool," I said sadly. "And you? You're happy all by yourself, huh?"

I swallowed and held back the tears.

"No," she said.

I looked at her at that.

She had nothing else to say. Looking at her: she had nothing left.

Then she smiled sadly. "There it is, then, Bella," she said. "Just like your parents; just like you said. You want me to be 'happy.' But this is what the 'pursuit of happiness' gets. It is one of our inalienable rights, but pursuing happiness? It's like chasing the wind: you never catch it, and, at the end of the day, you have nothing to show for it."

I swallowed at that. "God, Rosalie," I said. "How can you be like that? How do you just go on if that's what you believe?"

Rosalie snorted, surprised. "Baby, I can't _not_ go on. I can't stop. I'm in hell, and all I can do is go on and on and on forever."

She smiled bitterly at me.

I was up out of my chair, and I embraced her, holding her in my arms.

"Don't," Rosalie said. "Don't pity me. I neither deserve nor desire it."

She was as stiff as a board in my hug.

"Then ..." I said. "You're getting my hug whether you want it or not, 'cause you deserve it, 'cause I say so."

Rosalie was quiet for a moment. Then she observed: "You're ... very huggy today, Bella."

"Oh, chut up and hug me back!" I growled, then I gulped and said in a small voice: "Please?"

Rosalie sighed and her arms came up hesitantly from her sides, and she hugged me back.

I put my head into her shoulder.

Then an errant thought crossed my mind and stayed stuck there: she called me 'baby' just now.

I told the thought to go away and leave this moment alone, but it wouldn't.

...

Rosalie was preparing supper.

"Did you notice something, Bella?" Rosalie said quietly to the frying pan.

I blinked and looked up from setting the table. "Huh?" I said.

"You didn't say it," she said.

She wouldn't look at me.

"I didn't ... say it?" I said.

Why was I sweating all of the sudden?

She turned on me full, leaving the food to fend for itself.

"Yes," she said. "You said you would never let this happen. You promised yourself that you would not be like your parents, but, like them, you're not doing what they didn't."

She gave me a lopsided smile. "Funny how you can say you're not going to be like your parents, and funny how you are being exactly like them. So easy to say 'I'm not going to be like that,' but impossible to do what you never actually stated explicitly."

She turned back to the pan. "Funny, that."

My mouth was dry.

"Wait," I said. "You want me to ... say it?"

Rosalie looked at the pan, stirred the food: mostly potatoes, it looked like, then looked at me. "What I want ..." she laughed at herself. "What I want is you to be true to yourself. If you say you are going to do something, do it."

She raised her eyebrow and waited.

I blushed hard.

"Wow!" I said. "Just ... you just want me to say it, just like that?"

Rosalie looked me up and down, disappointment, then contempt filled her face. "No," she said curtly and turned back to the pan. She stirred the food angrily and wouldn't look at me anymore.

I just stood there for a minute, looking at her back.

"I love you," I whispered.

I swallowed.

That was the hardest three words I've ever said my life. The very first time I had ever said those words, they just came out, because there was nothing left in me but that. But now, it was like I was talking to a wall, a huge weight pressing against my chest making the words impossible to say.

But, somehow I said it.

Rosalie didn't alter one bit.

Then, quietly, she said: "Thank you."

She looked back at me. "Was that hard?" she demanded.

"Yes," I said in a small voice. I hated myself for saying that, but it was true.

"No, it wasn't," Rosalie said. "What was hard was all that shit you had going around in your head for why you can't say what you said you would. Just do what you say you're going to do. Be true to who you are, and doing what you say you're going to do becomes easy. Simple."

She returned her attention to the pan.

My face burned. It felt like she slapped me.

"What about you?" I asked carefully.

"What about me?" she demanded. There was a dangerous edge to her voice.

I bit my lip. "Are you true to yourself?"

That stopped her.

Rosalie took her hands from the pan and rested them on the stove, she bowed her head and laughed and laughed.

She laughed a good while.

"Bella," she said after she stopped, "my very _existence_ is a sham. Every moment I continue to be, I carry on a pretense that I am what I am not and never will be again. And for what? To visit death and destruction on the world and anyone foolish enough to cross my path! I _can't_ be true to myself: I am the embodiment of a _lie!_ Don't you get that?"

"No," I said.

Rosalie drummed her fingers on the stove. "You know, if you're trying to make me angry," she said, "you're doing a really good job."

"Good," I said.

Rosalie's jaw worked. She shook her head, removed the pan from the stove and filled my plate with food.

"Eat your supper," she commanded, and put the pan on the counter.

I looked down at my plate. "What is it?"

Rosalie shrugged angrily, then slunk into her chair. "Glop. Whatever. What the hell do I care?"

I looked at her for a moment, but then sat.

Rosalie was angry enough as it was.

Supper was really, really good. Peas, potatoes, but it was the saltiness and seasonings that really made it tasty: a hint of garlic and chives. And did she simmer it in chicken broth?

It was in the details. It was in the care in how she prepared it.

...

"Thank you for supper," I said.

"You're welcome," Rosalie replied coolly.

"It was really good," I offered.

Rosalie nodded once, then rose.

I grabbed my plate quickly and went to the sink. "I'll wash it," I told her.

Rosalie stood by her chair. I felt her eyes on my back.

"Brush your teeth, too," she ordered.

I turned quickly. "You going somewhere?" I asked.

Something was up, and I felt a little bit scared, because something was up, and I didn't know what.

"No," she said remotely.

She turned from me and headed for the door.

I watched her, frozen. She said she wasn't going, but she was going, and ...

No. Okay. She's going to her 'Christmas cache,' as I liked to think of it.

Okay, Bella, just breathe.

She retrieved a shirt box and put it beside me on the kitchen counter.

"For you," she said.

I looked at the box. It wasn't white; it was ivory.

The box, simple, unadorned, elegant, was probably more expensive than the clothes it contained.

"Rosalie," I said. "I ... hope those aren't expensive. I mean, I can just wear flannel pjs and that's fine with me, you don't need to waste your money on me like that, really."

Rosalie regarded me coldly.

"I mean ..." I said weakly.

"It is customary to say 'thank you' when given a gift, Bella," Rosalie informed me.

"I mean ..." I swallowed quickly, "but every day? Really you ..."

I was looking at a stone.

"Thank you," I whispered, averting my eyes.

"For what?" Rosalie said. "You haven't opened it. What if you don't like it?"

"Just ..." I said, "just let me dry my hands first, okay?"

 _What if I don't like it?_ she said. Like that were possible.

I finished rinsing off the plate and quickly wiped my hands on the dish towel.

I took the box from the counter and brought it to the table.

Can't have my gift getting all wet ... before I ruin it later tonight ... now, can I?

I opened the box.

I blinked.

"It ..." I said. "It's beautiful."

My voice was caught in my throat and only a whisper escaped.

Rosalie hustled me off to the privacy of the triptych, the box cradled in my arms.

"Get ready for bed. Change," she ordered. "Brush your teeth. I'll be waiting."

I opened the box again, reverently, and pulled Rosalie's gift for me out, taking my time to look at it now in full. It was a blush-pink, probably the exact same color of my skin whenever I thought of Rosalie, you know, that way, which was all the time now. It would hide the fact that I was blushing, blending in with my rosy cheeks.

Under the sheer pink slip was something more solid: a pair of dainty panties, cotton, white, with just a breath of pink to them and a little tiny pink bow in the front. Very, very ... cute.

My face burned.

When I put these things on, I would look good enough to eat.

But instead of feeling overjoyed at the gift, or feeling sexy, or desirable, ... I just felt ... sad.

I felt sad.

"I never get you anything," I whispered, and I had to whip my head away from Rosalie's gift, or my tears would stain them.

The salt, you know.

Rosalie didn't answer.

"I ..." I swallowed. "I love you," I whispered.

Rosalie didn't answer that either.

But I knew she heard me.

* * *

 **A/N:** Happy New Year!

This was not the chapter you were looking for.

Actually, this chapter didn't exist. I had gone ahead and written the next chapter already, but then Bella very gently but very insistently tugged at my elbow and mentioned that she hadn't told Rosalie that she loved her, and had let the whole day pass without having said that, so could I please very sweetly rectify that? ... if it wouldn't be too much trouble.

It wasn't something that she was going to allow me to let slide, you see, no matter how nicely she put the question to me.

So, now we have this. Bella has to say those three little words; this time with absolutely no help from Rosalie. And she says them.


	5. Sleeping Arrangements

**Chapter summary:** Something was up. I just never in my life imagined it would be this.

* * *

As I dressed in Rosalie's gift, I thought over the day.

Lunch. Supper.

And everything in between.

What was amazing to me was that all this happened like ... like nothing. Like none of it happened. Like ... like it was effortless. Like Rosalie knew what to do, and like I knew what to do, because we _knew_ each other. Like ...

Like I knew how far I could push things, and how far I couldn't.

Right now, today, I couldn't push things. And I knew that.

And, yes, it was dicey, sometimes, when the silence got too quiet, or I wondered what she was thinking, or wondered if she were wondering what I was thinking...

But, for the most part, the day came and went without incident.

That was a minor miracle, wasn't it?

I mean: I asked for this, and I got it.

Okay, in that light, maybe this was a major miracle. A breakthrough, of sorts.

I thought breakthroughs were supposed to be amazing, but this one happened without incident nor fanfare, and I would've missed it if I didn't have this realization just now. I asked for something from Rosalie, and she just complied. Just like that.

But now: bedtime.

Whoo, boy! Now that I could ask for things, and now that I could actually get what I asked for ... what could I ask for now? What was I gonna get?

I think approaching the bed was becoming a life-and-death experience, just from the anticipation of it and what might, or what might not, happen.

I changed behind the triptych in this, a powder-pink nothing of a sheer slip, it slid across my skin with less than a feather touch, caressing it like a lover. Not that I knew ... _precisely_ ... what that felt like. I mean, fully. You know.

I was blushing now, already, the same color as the slip. What was it? My ... fourth one now? My ... fifth?

The previous four didn't exist anymore, being mere scraps on the floor each morning as I woke, naked, alone in the cold, clammy bed, soaked in my sweat.

Saying that in my head, that sounds like a whole lot more than the nothing that's been actually happening... or so I guess ... or so I'm told.

God help me. I'm so damn scared, just going to bed.

Let's do this.

The slip hid nothing, absolutely nothing, but this was my fifth day doing this – I mean my fifth _night –_ so I was fine doing this now, with regularity, ... right? I was ... _so_ grateful for the pale pink panties Rosalie gave me for the very slightest bit of modesty, and you know the thing with the color pink?

It matched my skin color perfectly, for I found out something about myself. When I was embarrassed, I blushed ... hard.

When I was _really_ embarrassed, _really_ shy ... like now? My blush covered not only my face, but my _chest,_ too, for goodness sake!

The pink slip hid my blush ... mostly. Or at least made it blend a little bit better, so I didn't look like a complete idiot, blushing like a fool, because it was bed time and I was supposed to be cool, sleeping next to Rosalie whereas in fact I was hoping, praying, wanting that we would, in fact, be doing everything _but_ sleeping.

If you know what I mean. Because if you don't, you can look it up. In a book. They have books about this? Maybe I could ask Rosalie? Maybe I could just die, instead?

Not that I'm embarrassed about ... well, _it._ Whatever _it_ was that I was hoping that Rosalie would want to do tonight.

You know.

Rosalie stood by the bed, as was customary, in a long white satin robe, completely covering her sheer white 'evening' underthings she wore, as was customary.

Calling them 'underthings' was a crime to clothes, however, because Rosalie's underthings were unmentionably _un_ -clothes, if there were such a thing. And there were, because she wore them every night.

Rosalie, however, wasn't holding up the corner of the bed covers though, as she had ... well: customarily done up to now. No, she stood there, by the bed, waiting for me.

Something was ... different tonight.

My heart rate shot through the roof, and I was scared to death to approach her, but if I didn't, then what would she think? That I was scared? What would she say?

I tried to approach her and the bed normally and naturally, like, oh, I had never been able to.

Me? 'Normally' and 'naturally'? Ha-ha! Funny joke!

Rosalie wasn't laughing, however. She was deadly serious now, and that terrified me more.

I swallowed as I came up to her. "Uh ... hi?" I said, then immediately started kicking myself.

 _Really smooth, Bella Swan!_ I screamed at myself: ' _Uh, hi'? How pathetic does that sound!_

Rosalie's face smiled at me. It was a kind smile, but it did not reach her eyes. At all.

She got right to it. "Tonight, we are going to try something different," she said in a no-nonsense, businesslike tone.

I gulped. "We are?" I gulped, again.

Was I nervous? Oh, _hell_ no! Why would you think that?

"Yes," Rosalie said, distracted or annoyed, but at what, I didn't know.

 _Focus, Bella!_ I screamed to myself.

"Um, why? I mean: okay? I mean," I gulped quickly, "what are we gunna do different ... um?"

I think if I had just nodded my head knowingly, I might have looked, oh, I don't know, three hundred times more intelligent then how I felt now.

Rosalie regarded me coolly, measuring me with calm, calculating eyes. "We have a problem," she stated flatly.

The blush crept up from my chest to suffuse my face. "Um, we do?"

Rosalie reached out to my face, carefully, and brushed back an errant strand of my hair. "Yes," she said, "we do. You have noticed each morning your handiwork?"

"Uh," I swallowed, "yes...?" I gasped.

"Your particularly _violent_ handiwork?" Rosalie pressed.

Is it possible for your blush to blush? I think I just found out that, yes: it was possible.

I looked away, ashamed. "Rosalie," I whispered, "can we pretend that I have at least one tiny shred of dignity left, and that I'm not dying of shame here? And that maybe you don't have to rub this in my face and take away even that one last shred from me, please?"

Rosalie smiled sadly at me, cupping my cheek for a second, then resting her hand on my shoulder. The lightest touch, the cold, smooth, perfumed stone that was her on me.

I think my shoulder would catch fire, so enflamed it was by her feather-touch.

"Perhaps," she said enigmatically. "We shall see."

"So," she said, suddenly all business after her moment of gentleness. "It's obvious that my evening wear is an offense to yourself, at least at the subconscious level ..."

Me: "Uh ... what?"

Rosalie regarded me levelly then continued. "So if I am to lie next to you anymore, I will be naked."

I blinked in shock, not believing my ears. "Uh ... _whaaaaaa?"_

"Bella," Rosalie commanded now with cool authority, "remove my robe."

Me: "Uh ..."

Rosalie's hand, resting on my shoulder, bunched my hair into her fist and she pulled my head back forcefully.

"Ahhhhh...!" I began, but then her right hand flashed up from her side and covered my mouth firmly, silencing me.

"Sweetie," Rosalie said determinedly, "you heard what I said. You're blocking. Stop it. You are going to be ripping off my clothes later tonight if I were to lie next to you with them on, and no reasonable force in the world will stop you. Believe you me, I have tried reason over and over again, and failed each time, so I've accepted this inevitability. We therefore have before us two options, as I see it. I can stay away from the bed as you sleep, which is the logical, reasonable thing to do, but which you categorically reject, correct?"

Rosalie glared at me. My wide, wide eyes communicated only my fear at her sudden forcefulness with me now.

"That's one option," she said, "and I will be _happy_ to do this, just say the word. But, if this not acceptable for you, then we have two options, one is that I wear clothes that you will rip off..."

I tried to shake my head.

 _"Listen_ to me, Bella!" Rosalie snarled, "or, I disrobe now, and we save ourselves your violent actions later tonight as you rip them off my body. Which one do you choose!"

Rosalie stared down at me, a cobra poised to strike a little field mouse, and she remained like this, her hands holding me up and keeping me silent, until she was sure I got it.

She removed her hand from my mouth.

"I...I...I... I never s-saw th-this happening like this in a million years!" I cried.

"Be calm, and choose, Bella," Rosalie said, steel in her voice.

 _"I CAN'T!"_ I wailed, utterly overwhelmed.

Rosalie replaced her hand over my mouth and smiled down at me bitterly.

"Bella, I knew you'd say this. I know this is difficult for you, but consider me for a moment, please." She glared down at me. "I am _sick_ and _tired_ of this _BULLSHIT every... FUCKING ... night!_ And I would rather bury myself under a _snowdrift_ than put up with this any more, and I am perfectly _fine_ doing _precisely that!_ Are you fine with that arrangement?"

I looked up at her with wide, wide eyes.

I realized that she wasn't just asking a rhetorical question, that she was really asking me. I jerked my head back and forth in a pitiful _no._

"Do you want me to lie with you as you sleep, Bella? Yes or no?" she demanded.

I blinked my eyes rapidly, blinking away tears as they rolled in big balls down my cheeks.

I knew something was different. I guess I just didn't expect it to be so ... _totally_ different.

So, ... well: _Rosalie-_ different.

As I blinked, I tried to nod my head in a _yes,_ but there was no way my head would move that way, fixed, as it were, in the vise that Rosalie's hands were.

She got the message though. I guess that even though my head didn't move, she felt the pressure against her hands.

"Then," Rosalie said, "disrobe me. Your choice. You chose: you do this. Now."

She removed her hand from my mouth. "Nyyya-..." I wailed.

... and was immediately cut off. Rosalie screamed right in my face. It was the roar of a lion...ess? It was pure white sound crested over me in a thunderous crash that absolutely blinded me, and my body went completely limp.

...

"Bella," Rosalie said, her voice soft and distant, a million miles away.

"Bella," Rosalie called patiently, and sight began to return to my eyes.

I couldn't feel my body, but then I felt just one spot, right above where my neck joined my head to my body: there was Rosalie's hand, propping me up.

That was the fulcrum on which my whole center of existence rested: all feeling centered on that one point, and then radiated out from it, through the top of my head, then out to my chest and shoulders, that was all that I was aware of.

"Who's running away from facing the truth now?" Rosalie demanded. Her words her soft, but clear, and there was a hard, unrelenting edge to them. She was the only thing that kept me existing right now, but I was nailed in place, my whole being propped up by her, but, in consequence, I had no way to run from her censure, no matter how softly delivered.

Sometimes even the softest delivery of the truth is the cruelest, particularly when it's inescapable.

I next became aware of her other hand on my hand, lifting it up, gently, to her shoulder, then my hand brushing along her shoulder, knocking her robe open and then away from, first her left shoulder, then, crossing in front of her, her right shoulder. I saw through my eyes her silken robe cascade down her body and pile around her feet.

I was wrong. Again. She wasn't wearing her underthings under her robe.

She wasn't wearing anything now.

"You may try to escape this: you, and your choices, and the consequences therein," Rosalie said calmly, "but, Bella, this is you doing this. These are your choices that you have made. Know this. And you can say to yourself that it is I that am moving your hand, and blame me for what you do every night, but until you face yourself squarely, and your choices and what they lead to, then you're just running away from them. You. Running away, and under their sway. Blame me if you wish, but know that by doing this for you, I am opening your eyes. Know this."

I was aware of the sound of breathing as she spoke. I wondered, at first, in a detached way, where it came from.

Then I realized: it was me. I heard myself breathing. That's how I became aware of myself again, I felt my chest rise and fall, like it were a thing separated from me, but also a foreign thing, somehow attached to me, and I heard the air hushing through me, like you would hear a stream running under a bridge, a steady in-and-out sound going through me that I heard at a distance from ... 'me.'

Just like the sound of Rosalie's voice, but different, because her voice was all around me, but it was inside me at the same time.

"Bella," Rosalie's calm voice called to me from the depths. "Look at me. Am I not desirable? Do you not want me, as I want you, as I burn for you?"

My eyes: it felt like I didn't have them. All I could see were her eyes, looking down at me. And I knew they were ... wait: weren't they supposed to be black? I could hear the black- _want_ in her voice, the black-fire burning in her.

But I couldn't see that, or anything, really: I just saw Rosalie Hale as pure _Being_ and her eyes were the purest of blue.

I had never seen her eyes as blue. Why did I 'see' them now this way?

"This is your choice, Bella," Rosalie said, "whether you are conscious of it, or not. Now. Stand."

Carefully Rosalie eased her hand from my head.

"Look at me," she said.

I was just so out of it. I didn't know how I was even standing on my own.

 _"Look at ME!"_ she repeated angrily, and I blinked, once, twice, then blinked twice again, rapidly, coming back to myself.

"Look at me," she said softly.

I blinked again, coming round, and looked into her cobra-black eyes.

She smiled, seeing that I recognized her again. Then she nodded slowly. "That was the hard part, baby, wasn't it?"

I blinked again rapidly and tried to swallow.

Rosalie snorted softly, shaking her head. "Still in denial, aren't you?" she asked sadly.

I had nothing to say. When you're so overwhelmed, everything that you can try to think to say all seems pointless and stupid.

"Do you know why this is impossible for us, Bella?" Rosalie asked.

She didn't wait for my answer. "Because the want in me rises up so strongly, all the time, that I get scared of what would happen if I just let go the slightest little bit, yes? But you, every time, you signal you want me, but then you back away, and freeze up, and say you don't understand, when, clearly your body knows exactly what it wants, but you're an amazing jumble of all brains, all intellectualizing, but then, all heart, all feeling hurt and betrayed."

Rosalie looked at me coolly. "What a pair we make!" she stated. "And then!" she continued, "you go to sleep and all your inhibitions go out the window, and you take out all your anger on your own inhibitions on me! And I try to stop you, and I could ... if you didn't mind me ripping off your arms ..."

Rosalie paused, considering. "Do you mind me ripping off your arms, Bella?" she asked seriously.

"Uhhh, ..." I breathed out. It was more of a gasp of air than anything else. I tried to swallow and clear my throat discreetly.

 _"Hmm_ , I thought you might mind it, yes," Rosalie said distantly. "Just checking."

But then her gaze refocused on me. "Now you," she said.

That brought me up. "Now me what?" I asked, scared, my voice a small whisper in this sea of silence roaring inside my head.

Rosalie's hand came up to my shoulder, and her delicate thumb and forefinger tugged gently at my slip. "This," she said. "Remove it."

"Uh ... uh ... what?" I said, paralyzed.

Rosalie leaned in to me, her chin brushing against my shoulder, her cheek to mine, her lips right by my ear.

"Fucking," she snarled softly into my ear, "remove," she said, "your slip..." She paused, then growled: "Now."

I swallowed. "Why?" I begged.

"Because, my dear," Rosalie said, her calm façade not hiding the boiling fury beneath, "you are going to be removing it, forcefully later tonight, so, _again,_ we have two options, you can take it off now, or you can rip it to shreds later. Which do you prefer?"

"Later?" I whispered.

Rosalie regarded me levelly. "'Later,' she says," Rosalie said mockingly. "Is that so?"

"Uh, yes, please?" I said.

"So you don't mind destroying this gift I gave you and tossing it aside? Is this it's worth to you?" Rosalie demanded.

"Uh, no," I said and looked away.

"But that's what you just told me," she accused. "So which is it? Take it off now, in one piece, so you still have it tomorrow and maybe even possibly the next day if it lasts that long, or rip it apart later tonight and have the useless shreds consigned for disposal?"

"Uh ... that," I whispered around my tight throat, but then I realized in her look that she misunderstood, and was getting right angry about what I just said. "I mean: uh ... take it off now. I mean."

Rosalie looked at me hard. "Then _you_ take it off, Bella, for I will not."

I bit my lip, looking at her imploringly. "Please don't ... please don't look." I said.

Rosalie leaned into me, her face filling my field of view, her smirk predatory and possessive. "Oh, you can _bet_ I fucking will look, sweetie. Now, off with it."

So I was the one who looked away as I pulled the slip up, over, and away from me. It slide across my tiny tits, making them so hard they hurt, and I couldn't look anywhere.

Rosalie's delicate touch on my hips. It stung, because I didn't see it coming. I almost jumped out of my skin.

"Now these, sweetie," Rosalie said gently.

I shucked off my panties and kicked them away in one quick motion.

Rosalie was looking and looking and looking at me, and my face burned. I was so ashamed. Next to her I felt so small and awkward and ugly!

Rosalie leaned into me, dominating the whole space with her presence. "You are so ... _fucking ..._ beautiful, Bella Swan, do you know that?"

Everywhere her skin touched mine, it burned. Everywhere her skin _didn't_ touch mine, it hurt with the absence of her touch.

Rosalie brought her hand up to my chin and raised my eyes to look up into her hers. Her lips were quivering, pressed firmly together, and I didn't know whether she wanted to smile or to frown.

She looked down at me. "No, you don't," she said finally. "You have no clue just how much of a scorcher you are, do you?"

I blinked up at her, helplessly, not seeing what she saw in me at all, just seeing that she saw it, and that didn't give me a warm glow: it just befuddled and terrified me.

"That's okay," she said, going for easy-going, and just utterly missing that boat. She lifted up the covers and guided me into bed, her naked frame sliding into the bed next to me.

But she was facing away from me, her back stiff.

"Good night, Bella," she said quietly.

 _Uh ... what?_ I thought, confused.

Carefully, I brought my hand up and placed it on her shoulder blade. Rosalie's whole body tightened up as if shocked. I rested my hand as her body settled back into her spot on the bed beside me.

"But ... I thought ... Did you want to ...?" I asked softly.

Rosalie sighed a long, sad sigh. "No, Bella," she said, "you're all worked up, and for all the wrong reasons, just so fragile and on edge, and me, ..." she shook her head, "I'm just sad and tired and just so fucking angry at every God-damn thing. This would be the _worst_ time for anything of the sort. So, thank you for the offer, but I just don't want to. What I want to do is to kill something, really badly. We do this now, it would be you whom I killed: I would fuck you to death in seconds. And ... I don't want that. You sleep. I'll ... take care of myself later."

I didn't know that I was making any sort of 'offer,' but something that she said troubled me.

"You're ... sad?" I asked softly.

"Good _night_ , Bella," Rosalie said with finality, and became as stone, right next to me, but just so distant in her sullenness.

I looked and looked and looked at the back of her head, wanting to understand what just happened and why.

I don't know when I fell asleep.

...

 _"Nnnnh!"_ I heard a sound that woke me from a light, troubled sleep. I had been dreaming that Rosalie was sad. She was in a blue veil and crying over her baby, dead in her arms.

I heard heavy breathing, like panting, and Rosalie, her back to me, was shaking with a subtle, rhythmic jerking motion that was fast, then became faster and faster.

 _"Uhhh!"_ she grunted again, then, quickly: _"F-fuck!_ Oh, God! Fuck!"

Rosalie gasped quietly big gulps of air for a moment.

Then she breathed out an almost silent: "Oh, my fucking God." And then again: "Oh, my _fucking_ God!"

Rosalie's rocking motions had stilled, but she continued to pant for a while, then her breathing crested and slowed, becoming deep and even. She lay like that, facing away from me, for a moment or two, utterly and complete still, not even breathing. It was a sad, quiet stillness. It was like she were dead.

Suddenly she shifted in the bed, lying on her back, and her hand whipped up from her midsection to wrap around me, pulling me into her.

The motion was so sudden, it scared me. I _meeped_ in shock, and I jerked back, or I tried to, but I couldn't. All I could do was be pulled into her side.

Rosalie kissed me on my forehead – a fast, hard kiss – then she lay her head back on the pillow with a thud, like her head was too heavy to hold up for her anymore.

"Go back to sleep, baby," she said, a rough edge in her voice: it were as if her throat hurt. "I'm sorry you woke to witness this, but it's nothing to worry about: just fucked-up me and my fucked-up ... existence."

Then she shoved me away from her. "You'll catch your death of cold if you cling to me," she said, almost bitterly.

What?

I wasn't having any of that.

I snuggled into her determinedly, worming my left hand under her back and locking it together to my right hand that I draped over the top of her.

"No, I won't," I whispered, breathing her in, her scent so heavy in the air you could almost cut through it. It was like her whole being filled the cabin.

"Yes," she sighed tiredly, "you will."

But there was no fight in her. There was no life in her. She was just arguing for the sake of form.

Rosalie Hale and her stupid forms.

I snaked my leg over hers, hooking my heel against her ankle.

"Rosalie," I whispered, then gave her shoulder a quick kiss, "just shut up, okay?"

I felt Rosalie wrap me tightly in the blanket, and I thought I felt her arms pull me into her her, molding my body into hers. "Fuck!" I thought I heard her say. "Fuck. Fuck. Fuck."

It was a sad cry of self-loathing: a cry of a little girl lost in the wilderness, who perhaps feared being found more than being forever lost.

Then I thought I felt her kiss my head o-so-softly.

Or did I dream it?

"Fuck," I heard her whisper dejectedly, then I heard no more.

* * *

 **A/N:** In the last chapter, Bella was scared that something was up in Rosalie's distracted air. She just didn't know it would lead to this.

Fair warning: the night is young.

These chapters are hard to write. They may be hard to read, for which I'm sorry.

Bad news: things don't get better; they get worse and worse.


	6. Baby

**Chapter Summary:** I'm sorry. You were expecting Bella to write something here, weren't you? Well, you're not going to get that now. Or ever again. Because she's dead. She's _dead_ now. And she so wanted me to be happy. _This is 'happy'?_ God damn it, I knew this would happen! God damn me. God damn my soul to everlasting torment!

 **Warning:** Character death. Explicit. Sad. Elements of coercion and reluctance. Triggering. _Not_ the happy ending you were looking for.

Bring it.

* * *

 _Something._ I thought.

Nothing made sense. I was asleep and content, and then, suddenly, I was very, very awake and very, very confused.

Rosalie had me wrapped in her arms. Her hand cradled my head, and she had me pressed against her.

No.

Yes. ... No.

I suddenly realized I was at her breast, and sucking. Rosalie's sweetness flowed into me, a little trickle, drop after drop of icy-cold liquid. I couldn't taste it as her tit was firmly pressed into my mouth, but as I sucked and swallowed, my mouth, my throat, my tummy, my whole body was alive and on fire with her, and the aftertaste was amazing, and the smell of her, so close, so pressed against me, was incredible. Rose, honeysuckle, those are just mere words of the lightness I floated in that was _Her_ as her essence entered into me.

It was so right.

No. It was so wrong!

 _"Mmmm!"_ I whined and choked a little, trying to do that but trapped against her, into her, and her: in me.

"Sh, sh, sh!" Rosalie hushed and kissed me gently on the top of my head. "Almost done, sweetie."

I tried to pull back; I couldn't. I tried to squirm. I couldn't. I was locked in to her.

"Fussy baby!" Rosalie chided, kissing my hair. "Fussy baby!" and she kissed my hair once more as she said this.

Eventually I gave up. I couldn't fight her. I couldn't move. I could barely breathe. All I could do was ... suck.

"Good girl," Rosalie cooed, then: "Now, the other one."

She shifted around me on the bed, turning me around and at the same time transferring me from her right breast to her left.

"Ro...!" I tried to shout as her nipple left my mouth, but that only helped to press her left tit firmly into my opened mouth.

"That's it," Rosalie said, and pressed me to her. She didn't let me go.

She kissed me on the head. "Come on, now, sweetie," she said. "You know what to do."

I ... gave in. I'm ashamed to say this, but, don't you see? There was _nothing_ I could do about this! I couldn't even struggle against this. Rosalie held me so powerfully, so assuredly, I couldn't even squirm, my body was so firmly pressed into hers. I just .. began sucking. It was hard to get anything from her at all, like it was fighting to stay inside her, but when she expressed, drop by drop, it was like ...

It was like I had just died and the fluid dripping into me was my life's-blood.

I lost track of time. And with the liquid trickling into me, just like kissing Rosalie, I lost track of myself.

...

"There we go, sweetie," Rosalie cooed. "All done!"

She eased me off her – and, to my everlasting shame, ... I didn't want her to – and then she laid me on the bed, tucking me back under the covers, just as if nothing happened. Or just as if this _always_ happened.

I felt sick to my soul.

"Rosalie," I said.

"That's right, honey, rest easy now," Rosalie said.

"Rosalie," I said.

I saw in the dim light of the night, Rosalie's eyebrows cloud, but then her face cleared, and she kissed me on my forehead, laying back herself.

I looked up at the ceiling. Wondering not what happened, but how I was going to talk with Rosalie about this.

"You're awake," Rosalie stated.

I looked over at her form in the dark. "Yes," I said.

Rosalie rolled onto her side, resting on her elbow and looked down at me.

"You're really awake," she clarified.

"Rosalie, ... yes," I said.

Rosalie was quiet for a moment. "Huh," she said. I saw her purse her lips. "How long have you been awake?"

"The whole time!" I said, trying to remain calm, but I felt myself losing it. My body was vibrating as my adrenalin kicked into high gear. I could feel myself getting ready to go into a screaming-fit, and I worked hard at not losing my head.

"Really?" Rosalie said in disbelief.

 _"YES!"_ I screamed. Uh, oh! The screaming fit was here, but I couldn't stop it now. "Rosalie! Oh, my God! What were you doing! You said you weren't taking advantage of me, but what do you call _this?_ Oh, my God! _Oh, MY GOD!_ When you called me 'baby' I thought it was weird, but I didn't think you _actually meant it! Rosalie! I'm not some baby, and you can't make me do that! GOD DAMN IT!"_

I was holding onto myself for dear life. I was scared what I would do if my hands were free.

Now I know why I smacked her that night.

Rosalie's eyebrows came together. "Wait. I 'made' you?"

 _"YEEEEEESSSSSS!"_ I screamed, then panted big gulps of air, trying to calm myself, a screaming fury in the face of absolute, unrepentant calm.

Rosalie's calm made me want to scream more, but I saw she just didn't care, and how can you scream at somebody like that? You just look stupid, ... and you feel worse.

"I tried to pull away from you," I said in a tightly controlled voice, "but you _wouldn't let me!"_

Okay, not so tightly controlled.

"You get fussy sometimes," Rosalie's eyes slid away from me.

That explanation didn't help me at all.

 _"'Sometimes'?"_ I screamed. _"'SOMETIMES'? HOW MANY TIMES IS 'SOMETIMES'! ROSALIE HALE!"_

"Every night since that night," Rosalie replied softly, "that night you told me you love me. When you don't get what you want, you get fussy, and then you hit me."

Her words hung in the air for a moment, and her look to me in the dark, although I couldn't see it clearly, was laden with reproach.

That brought me up short. She didn't look guilty, like she had just been caught red-handed. No, she looked ... hurt.

But I still couldn't believe her. Because if what she said were true, then that meant I was the bad guy here, that I was the perverted sicko here.

And ... I wasn't a perverted sicko, was I?

No.

I couldn't be.

"Oh!" I said hotly, "Me get what I want? It was more like you got what _you_ want! Who held me to your ... okay, to your ... b-breast, huh? I was _there!_ You can't tell me different!"

Rosalie was quiet for a second, then she said sadly, "No, I can't."

 _"SEE?"_ I shouted. "Don't you be twisting around the ..."

"But, Bella," Rosalie said calmly. "How did you get there?"

"What?" I said, totally thrown off, but rallying quickly. "You put me there!"

"Did I really?" Rosalie asked dubiously. "You were awake then, when that happened as you say?"

I bit my lip. "Well, ..." I said and I swallowed. "... um, I don't know now. I know you ... did that for ... you know ... the second one." I admitted weakly.

"The 'second one,'" Rosalie repeated drily.

I looked away. Suddenly I felt ashamed and foolish.

"So," Rosalie continued. "Were you awake when you turned to me, and slid down, nuzzling at me until you latched onto my breast and started nursing?"

I felt my face go white. "What?" I asked.

"It's a simple question, Bella," Rosalie said. "Yes or no?"

"No," I said, then amended quickly. "I mean, ... I don't know."

"Uh ... huh," Rosalie replied neutrally, but with an undertone of accusation. She knew what my answer meant. In fact, she knew me better than I knew myself, damn her.

She lay back down on the bed, and now it was her turn to stare up at the ceiling. She blew out a long, tired sigh.

"Rosalie," I said, "tell me true. Is that what happened, really?"

"Yes, Bella," Rosalie said remotely, "that is what happened. Really."

"Then ..." I blinked twice. "Then ... why didn't you _tell me_ before?"

"Baby, ..." Rosalie began.

 _"NO!"_ I screamed. "Don't!" I gulped. I swallowed, but I couldn't continue, so I shook my head rapidly.

Rosalie propped herself up again and regarded me quietly for a moment.

"I wish I knew how to comfort you," she said sadly.

"Then _tell me the TRUTH!"_ I bit off through tightly gritted teeth.

Rosalie nodded. "Bella," she said slowly, "try to look at this from where I'm sitting, hm? Do you remember that morning, you were so distraught, as now, so fragile, wondering if I had raped you, then terrified that you had raped me? The truth. The truth I told you: it was neither, but if I just blurted out, 'oh, Bella, remember how you said you wish I were your mother? Funny thing, that, because last night you were nursing at my breast. Fancy that!'"

Rosalie regarded me quietly. "Tell me, how would that statement been received, hm? Would you have been able to even understand those words as you heard them? Most likely no, but then when it hit you, then what? Disbelief? Recriminations? And you already so fragile? Who would you have blamed? Me? I _wish!_ I know what you would do eventually: blame yourself. But the immediate impact? Particularly in your already fragile emotional state, and your body trying so desperately to recover, when, clearly, you weren't recovering."

She looked away. "You still aren't."

"Why didn't you try to stop me, Rosalie?" I said softly.

"I did," she replied, "the first time. And I got slapped for my trouble."

"But ..." I said.

She wasn't finished. "... and then when I held your hands away from me, you started screaming and crying and tugging so hard against me, that I feared you'd dislocate your shoulder."

She glanced at me. "So, the choice: I stop you, and you actually pull your arm out, fighting me stopping you, ... or I let you have what you wanted."

"Why didn't you wake me?" I demanded.

Rosalie chuckled ruefully. "You screaming and crying? Ripping my clothes off? And I was to wake you ... how, precisely, Bella? You tell me."

I pondered her words for a moment. Now it was my turn for my head to hit the pillow.

Rosalie watched me the whole time.

"When were you going to tell me this?" I asked her. I looked at her hard. "Tell me true."

"Never," Rosalie said.

That earned a sharp look. "So you were hoping I'd never find out?"

"That was the general idea, yes," Rosalie said drily.

I just looked at her. "God!" I said and shook my head.

Rosalie had nothing to say to that. She turned around and sat, her feet hanging over the side of the bed.

"Do you want me to ..." She began, but then changed tack. "Do you want to be alone now?" she offered.

I looked up at the ceiling. "I ... I don't know. I just don't know."

Rosalie back was a hunched shape in the dark, featureless. "Yes, you do," she said grimly.

I looked over at her quiet form, then I made my decision. "What do you want?" I asked.

Rosalie stayed hunched for a moment, then she whispered so quietly I didn't know if she said it.

"I want to die."

Now I knew what I wanted.

"May I have my flannel pjs, please," I said.

Rosalie sighed, lifted herself up from the bed and glided to where our clothes were folded.

"You wear something, now, too, please," I said.

Rosalie had retrieved my clothes, but she stopped at this command.

"What do you not mind ripping, Bella?" she asked quietly.

I blinked. "God damn it, Rosalie Hale!" I whispered.

"Those are the options, Bella," she said. "I can stay outside the cabin as you sleep, I can ..."

"I _KNOW_ _what the options are,_ _okay?"_ I shouted.

"Okay," Rosalie said reasonably.

You ever notice how being reasonable can be so hard and relentless? I noticed that now.

I threw out myself back onto the bed and blew out an exasperated sigh.

"What option do _you_ want?" I shot right back at her, feeling surly.

"No," Rosalie shook her head, "this is entirely your decision, Bella. What are you comf-..."

"Oh, _git in this bed NOW!"_ I shouted, really angry now.

Rosalie stood there, absolutely still, a statue in the stillness of the night.

"Okay," she said softly.

She came back to the bed and handed me my flannel pjs. She got under the covers as I put them on.

She was still naked.

 _"You_ are _not_ my mother! You hear me?" I snarled.

"Yes," she said.

 _"I'm NOT your baby! Okay?"_ I said.

"Yes," Rosalie said.

"Oooooh!" I shouted furiously and turned from her, pulling the blankey tightly around me. I was so pissed off at her easy compliance, like this meant _nothing_ to her!

I sulked in the silence for a while.

But Rosalie's silence was very different than my sulking, it was ... sad. I could sense it was filled with ... regret.

I felt my eyebrows come together as the calmness of sleep diffuse my anger. "Did you want ... that?"

Rosalie said quietly, "No."

"Then ..." I stopped, surprised. I didn't expect that answer at all. "No, wait. Did you just say 'no'? Why?"

"You just deserve better than me, Bella; that's all," she said.

"AHHHHHHH!" I shouted, snapped awake by that.

I turned on her fast, grabbed her face and kissed her lips hard, and turned away just as quickly.

"You!" I snarled. "How can I be so angry at you and just love you so damn much, all at the same time?"

"I don't know, Bella," Rosalie said, detached. "How can you be so ..."

"Oh, shut _UP!"_ I screamed.

But Rosalie didn't hear me, ... she wasn't even with me, anymore, not in spirit anyway.

"It just doesn't stop," she whispered to herself. "It just goes on and on and on, and I beg it to stop, but it doesn't stop. Why doesn't it stop?"

I had never heard that sound that Rosalie's voice made. She had been brought so low that a little girl's voice was escaping her mouth.

I sighed.

I turned to Rosalie, put my arm around her, ... thought about it ... then put my leg over hers, cradling her.

"Hey, you," I said gently, but then I didn't know where to go from there.

My brow furrowed. "Just don't get any ideas," I warned her, and rested my head in the crook of her shoulder.

"Yes, ... of course not," she said. "Why would I?"

I sighed into her shoulder. "Just rest," I said. "Can you rest?"

"I can pretend," she said. "That's all I am: pretense."

"That's not what I'm asking," I said sourly.

Rosalie shifted her head slightly toward me. "How are you?" she asked, concern coloring her voice.

"God, Rosalie!" I said. "I just don't know."

I bit my lip. "I just don't know."

"Yes," she said regretfully. "I know."

I slept.

...

I woke suddenly.

And was just as suddenly overwhelmed.

I was ... my body was ... I was ramming myself into Rosalie over and over, hard, vicious, and my thrusts had pulled my pjs bottoms down over my hips onto my thighs.

I was ramming into her, and I couldn't stop. And I ... my body ... I couldn't get enough.

"Ah! Ah! Ah!" I grunted. "Rosalie! Help! I can't ... I can't stop!"

Rosalie was still. "Yes, you can, Bella," she said calmly. "You can stop."

"I can't!" I wailed as I thrust into her. "I ... _can't!"_

I tried to stop myself, but my body wouldn't listen to me. It was alive, on fire, and that fire needed to be quenched, and the only coolness was Rosalie.

My body needed her more than it needed the air, because I was straining and gasping in big gulps and it was _nothing_ to me.

"No!" I cried. "I can't! I can't! Help me!"

"Sweetie," Rosalie said kindly, "then ... ride it out. Just ride this out. I've got you." She placed her hand over my shoulder and onto my butt, pressing me firmly into her, but instead of the friction slowing me down and stopping me, I found, to my shock, that I was very wet down there, and that wetness made rubbing against Rosalie, firmly pressed to her, incredibly ... how do I say it? ... it only made the burning in me so much worse. My body was getting what it wanted, but instead of being relieved, I now needed more and more.

I threw my head back and howled and my legs went into a frenzy of kicking, my toenails trying to dig into Rosalie's legs, but finding no purchase at all against her marble skin.

So they clawed into the bed, playing havoc with this sheets, and they did kick off my pajama bottoms: kicking down to one ankle, then completely kicking them away from me to lie somewhere crumpled beside me on the bed.

"Bella, sweetie," Rosalie said, "I've got you." She said, then she grasped ahold of my head and firmly pressed my lips to hers.

I snarled into her mouth now, fighting her, fighting me and my body, fighting everything.

But.

Her.

Just the taste of her in my mouth, and the fire in my body became an explosion, and the snarl became a shriek as I screamed for all I was worth. My whole body tightened up and instinctively I tried to pull my head back, but Rosalie's firm grip kept me firmly pressed to her, so I howled as I felt this tremendous rushing then this release, so powerful, that everything inside me let go all at once. I had absolutely no control over my body, and I felt myself peeing and peeing all over Rosalie. It was embarrassing and amazing and terrifying and scary all at once.

Then ... nothing. Just me and my pee: just a sweating mess, panting on top of Rosalie.

Rosalie's grip on my loosened slightly. She still held me, but she let my head slide off hers, gently, to rest on her shoulder.

"Oh, my God!" I panted. "Oh, my God!" I gasped helplessly and exhausted, so ashamed at myself and so confused as to what just happened.

"Sh, sh, sh, sweetie," Rosalie said, her voice steady, sweet and soothing, unperturbed, as if she were unaffected by what had just happened; what had totally shook me to my core. "Rest now, recover," she said.

I sucked in big gulps of air. "Rosalie," I said, "oh, my God! I'm so sorry! I couldn't stop myself. Really, I couldn't and I'm so, so sorry! I didn't mean to ... I mean, I ..."

I swallowed, so ashamed of myself and what I had just done.

Rosalie nodded. "I ... know, Bella. I understand."

My breathing slowed just a bit.

I laid on top of her her for a while, then I got embarrassed in the silence.

"W-what happened?" I asked quietly.

Rosalie was silent at that, just holding me.

I took in a deep breath and blew it out slowly. "I ... I just took advantage of you, didn't I?" I said sadly.

Rosalie paused thoughtfully. "No, sweetie; no. You said it yourself: you couldn't stop yourself."

"What?" I said. "That doesn't matter! I just ... God! ... I just ... attacked you! ... like some animal!"

 _Just like some God-damned filthy animal in heat, rutting all over her._ I accused myself bitterly.

Rosalie said nothing to this, and that only made me feel worse. She could have used some soothing words to cover over what I had done, but no. There it was, plain as day. There was no escaping my actions; there was no covering this over.

I had my shame, but I had another big problem. I tried moving my arm.

I found I couldn't.

 _Don't panic._ I told myself. _Don't panic._

I tried moving my arm again. No. That didn't work. I tried to lift my head. Nope. I tried wiggling my toes. It wasn't that they were 'numb.' They just weren't mine.

"Rosalie," I said as calmly as I could, "I can't move."

My body, so ... vigorous a moment ago, which I couldn't stop, was now this dead weight, that I now couldn't move. It wasn't that I was numb, just the opposite: every nerve ending was on fire, and I could feel everything. In fact, my skin was hyper-sensitive, and my senses were supernaturally attuned. It was like I could see and hear everything. I could see all of Rosalie, but not through my eyes, but through my skin. She was limned in the light of the stars. I could even hear the breeze outside.

The non-extant breeze.

That wasn't normal ... was it?

"Hm, yes," Rosalie said distantly.

"Rosalie ..." I said carefully, "what's happening to me?"

Rosalie rubbed my head gently. It was if she were patting me, her favorite cat, but it felt almost painful to me. Not painful, but like every hair on my head felt her touch.

"It's the venom," she said.

"The ... what?"

Rosalie smiled in the darkness. "Remember I told you I was all one thing? I am. I'm not a human being that has cells and and tissues and organs or ... anything. I am just one thing: venom, mostly solid, more solid than a rock, more so even than the hardest diamond, but sometimes that rock 'weeps,' and it weeps a very deadly and fast-acting poison."

I contemplated her words. She knew what she was talking about, obviously, but I just couldn't believe her.

"Poison," I echoed.

"Yes," she said.

"It doesn't ... taste like poison," I pointed out hesitantly.

"Have you ever tasted poison?" she countered.

"Okay," I said, still trying to understand, "but it doesn't feel like I'm being poisoned."

"Then how is it that you cannot move?" she asked.

She had a point there.

"The venom is both a blood toxin and a neurotoxin," she continued, "poisoning your blood and attacking your nerves, paralyzing you. The latter is working through you now, attacking your nervous system, spread throughout your entire body by your exertion just now."

"And you let this happen?" I asked, just wanting to know. Or so I told myself, but I felt the panic, a little ball in the pit of my stomach, growing and growing, threatening to overwhelm me.

"Up to now it hasn't," Rosalie said. "It seemed saliva acts as a countering agent, eliminating the toxic effects, but maybe there's a cumulative effect. I don't know. I thought your body was, well, managing ... but ... I guess there was a breaking point. I guess you reached it now."

 _"Gee, thanks, Rosalie, for pointing that out!"_ I growled, sarcasm a heavy undercurrent in my voice.

Rosalie was quiet.

"Sorry," I said, and I wanted to turn my head away from her face. I didn't want to see her hurt, but I couldn't move.

"You asked, Bella, so I told you," Rosalie said quietly.

But her quietness was reproving.

"I know," I said contritely. "I'm sorry."

Rosalie's face was hard. My apology didn't help.

I closed my eyes, so I didn't have to look the damage I had done just now... and, well, all of tonight, too.

God! How could tonight be any worse?

Uh, oh. Ask a question, and the answer's just waiting for you, isn't it?

"Uh, oh, no! Rosalie, help!" I meeped.

"What is it?"

"Uh," I said embarrassed. "I have to pee again. Like, now."

Rosalie nodded. "Yes," she said as she lifted me up out of bed, "it's the venom. It relaxes your muscles. You've lost control over your bladder."

"Is there anything this stuff doesn't do?" I demanded angrily.

"Yes," Rosalie answered tightly, but she said no more as she carried me and the chamber pot to the triptych. She held my form over the pot, a limp doll in her hands, and the pee just came and came and came.

It was embarrassing at first, then it just got downright ridiculous.

"God!" I shouted as I peed. "How much pee can a body hold?"

"Sh, sh," Rosalie scolded me gently. "Don't worry about that, sweetie."

I peed myself in sullen silence, even my anger at myself stolen from me.

But then.

"Oh, no," I said, ashamed.

Rosalie didn't even miss a beat. Effortlessly, she rotated my whole body around her hands, and now my bottom was hanging low, because I found out I had more business to take care of than just pee.

"Your sphincter is relaxed, too," Rosalie remarked clinically.

I would have loved to scream at her then, just to lash out at somebody other than me to blame for my body completely letting go like this.

But I didn't. I just bottled up all my fear of what was happening to me, so all beyond my control, and all my anger. It grew and grew until it all welled up inside me and burst forth from my chest, traveling simultaneously through my gut down into the chamber pot – _plop, plop, plop! –_ and then up through the top of my head, which lolled back, and my throat opened up and a long, sad, terrible wail issued forth from my slack jaw, and I found myself bawling, my head propped up by Rosalie's shoulder, my body held up, floating a foot above the ground in an awkward squat leaking fluids out of every opening that could produce them.

And produce them they did.

"Shhh," Rosalie sang. "Shh, honey. I have you."

And, the thing is, she did. She had me, and she didn't let me go. She held me through this little crisis of mine. If she were disgusted with my bodily excretions, she showed no sign of it. She held me over the pot until she was sure I was done, which was a lot longer than I thought necessary, but my own body betrayed me there, too, and a little more pee joined the stinking mess below me, almost as if to spite me.

My anger and fear had all cried itself out of me by now, and all that was left was an emptiness, a loneliness that ached inside, even as Rosalie carried me away from my own mess.

"Rosalie," I said softly, "I'm sorry."

"What are you sorry for, Bella?" Rosalie asked as she brought me to the tub.

"I... I..." I gulped, "I really wanted this to be different."

"How was it supposed to be different?" she said as she laid me into the tub – _ooh! cold!_ – and filled the pitcher with hot water.

"I wanted it to be special and ... and ... and it wasn't!" I sniffled.

 _God!_ I thought, _it so wasn't!_

Rosalie sighed. "'Special,' as in how?" she asked.

"Well, different than this!" I said.

Rosalie shook her head. "Not helpful, Bella."

She tested the water, went outside, scooped up some snow, I suppose, for she waited a minute before pouring the water over me.

It was nice and warm: just the right temperature.

"What did you see for what you wanted this special moment to be, specifically?" Rosalie said.

"Well, ..." I said, thinking about it now for the first time, really, because I hadn't really known – _specifically_ – what I had wanted. I just wanted it to be special.

"Well, ..." I said, as Rosalie continued bathing me. She looked focused on her work, but I knew she was paying attention to what I was saying. I felt she really wanted to know, and that gave me courage and scared me a little, too.

Nothing like sharing your 'special moment,' with somebody you want to have that 'special moment' with!

"Well," I said, "I thought it would be like ... you 'n me would be like ... alone ... together, in, like, a clearing in the forest? And we'd have like ... potato salad? Like a picnic? And the sun would be shining, and I'd be wearing this yellow summer dress and you would be ... just so beautiful in whatever you were wearing? And ... you'd look over at me, and I'd look at you, and you'd ... like ..."

I gulped, but I continued. "You'd, like, smile that wicked smile of yours and I'd just melt inside and you'd, like, reach out to me and ... um ... you'd ... um ..."

I stuck out my tongue, but then I stopped. I couldn't continue any more. "Yeah," I finished weakly.

Rosalie paused, considering, then she smiled. "'And then I'd have my wicked way with you,' Bella? Is that what you were going to say?"

 _"Rosalie Hale! Jeez!"_ I shouted, blushing hard.

"Well, maybe," I added weakly.

"Uh ... huh," Rosalie remarked distantly, then she resumed washing the ... okay: the poop off me.

"I just ..." I said sadly, "I just wanted it to be ... different." Then, terrified of Rosalie's scolding I was sure to get if I didn't say what I meant, _precisely_ , I added quickly. "I mean, rutting like a ... God-damn animal and then afterwards just so ashamed and feeling empty inside? God!"

"As opposed to living the monastic life for a half-a-year waiting for for the Summer to come so you could get mauled by mosquitos as the alternative?" Rosalie asked archly.

"Huh?" I said, snapping out of my reverie. "What?"

"That's what you said you wanted instead, right, Bella?" Rosalie pressed.

"Well, no, if you put it that way," I said sheepishly, "no, not that ... exactly..."

"And then while I was having my wicked way with you," Rosalie continued, "what would you be doing? _Not_ rutting like an animal, but instead, cooing, _'Oh, Rosalie, how romantic that we're conjugating with propriety in an off-hand, distant way like civilized human beings, not like wild brutes'_ as I fucked your brains out? Is that how it would go, Bella?"

"No," I muttered, ashamed at being called out: stupid me with my stupid romantic fantasy. "I don't know how it would've gone, Rosalie, okay? I'm not ... okay ... this is ... all so new to me, okay?"

I whispered sadly: "I just wanted it to be special."

Rosalie lifted me up out of the tub, put me down on a towel, and took the tub along with the chamber pot outside and cleaned out the pot with the tub water. Thoroughly. Returning inside she placed me back into the tub.

"May I say something, Bella?" Rosalie said.

I bit my lip. "Yes," I whispered.

 _Here comes the scolding,_ I thought bitterly.

"For me," she said softly, "it was special."

I blinked. "Wait... what? ... _That?"_

"Yes," she said.

I closed my eyes hard then opened them again. _"That_ was _special,_ Rosalie? _Why?"_

I couldn't get over the shock. Yes, she had worse. Her experience was being raped by five men and left to die. That was definitely worse than this, yes. But this? _Special?_

I couldn't see it.

"Because," Rosalie said, "you wanted me. You wanted me so much that you didn't stop yourself from having me. Do you know what it is, wanting so much to be wanted?"

I gulped. "Yes," I said. I actually knew what it was giving up on wanting to be wanted, because I just never saw that happening to me: being wanted.

"But ..." I said hesitantly, "... you're ... Rosalie Hale!"

I felt I was stating the obvious, but, obviously: she _is_ Rosalie Hale. She _had_ to know what it was to be wanted, all the time.

"Yes," she acknowledged, "and every essay at a connection I've endeavored has ended in failure. Don't you see that there's something fundamentally so broken inside of me that all I can grasp at is ruin?"

I gawked. "Rosalie Hale!" I said, "If I could get up out of this tub, I would grab you and hug you and _never_ let you go!"

Rosalie smirked at that. "'Never' is a very, very long time, Bella."

"Don' care!" I shouted.

"See?" Rosalie said. "Special."

I blinked. "But I mean ... okay, but that was messy and icky and disg-..."

"And special," Rosalie said. She smiled warmly, "Sexual intercourse, b-... Bella, is messy and sweaty and mechanical. It is an instinctive reproductive function ..." She looked away, "... in species that can reproduce." She pushed forward: "... and it is an act of love in the higher species ... that can express love. Messy, icky, ... and special."

Then she doused me with water, right in my face. I swallowed a lot of it. I must have had my mouth hanging open.

...

I was quiet for the rest of the bath. Rosalie had said too much for me to swallow all at once. All my emotions were hitting me hard, and still I tried to understand what she said to me. It was all too much.

Meanwhile, Rosalie lifted me up out of the tub and washed me down, giving me a complete rubdown with a soapy washcloth.

She was very patient, very ... thorough.

Every crevasse, every cavity was ...

Let's just say she made sure I was clean.

Very clean.

Do you know what it is to have your body, limp, draped over Rosalie Hale as she washes you down and cleans you?

I wanted to be embarrassed, but her touch, so gentle, yet so firm, ... there was nothing I could do in my current state: I couldn't move a muscle, and as was so recently proved, I had no control over anything in my body whatsoever, much less any control over what she was doing to me, so all I could do was just ... be, just be held by her and let her do to me what she was doing to me.

If this were Rosalie having her way with me, I could get used to this very quickly.

In fact, I did. My whole body relaxed into hers. My tissues inside dissolved into this mass of jelly held inside by this very relaxed layer of skin, very much attuned to Rosalie's every touch as she washed my whole body, cleansing me of my piss and poop, washing away my shame, rubbing out all my anger and self-hatred and leaving behind nothing: nothing but me, held to her.

She toweled me off, and my skin burned at the touch of the towel. After she rubbed me down, my whole body felt tingly-funny, it ... hurt. It didn't actually, but I felt like a live wire, so much electricity running through me, like, that I felt I would burn up or explode.

But then she lay me down on the bed.

She said: "You're dehydrated. You need to drink water, okay?"

It wasn't a question, and the whole way she was standing brooked no disagreement.

But as she left my side to get the water, I felt the ... 'aliveness' inside me, centering at my stomach, pull out from me: pull out and follow her. It was like there was more of her inside me than there was me, and it felt like the her in me needed to be with her and not in me.

It was like the aliveness inside me knew what it was, and where it belonged, and it didn't belong in me. Not anymore.

I tried to cry out for help as I felt myself leave me, but my throat was so, so tight, that even just breathing was becoming harder and harder, and there was a grayness at the edge of my vision that swam into my field of view: the grayness growing as my aliveness diminished.

Rosalie returned to me. I felt her more than I saw her. I felt her more inside me then I felt her without, and the vitality, returning to me now, full-force, made me wonder at my stupid foolishness. Did I just make all that up? Why was so scared of nothing? Why was I such a stupid, clingy little ... well: baby?

Rosalie sat me up. "Drink," she commanded, and tilted my head back.

The liquid went in.

And it came right back out.

 _"Bleh!"_ I sputtered. "What was that?"

Rosalie was quiet. "Water," she said.

"Uh, no, Rosalie," I said. "It wasn't. Or if it was, it's gone bad! I mean, _really_ bad! You tryin' to poison me or something?"

It had to be the worst thing I ever tasted. If I didn't see that Rosalie had come from the general direction of the stove, I would have sworn she was trying to give me right back what I had just peed and pooped out.

Really, it tasted that bad!

"No," Rosalie said quietly.

"Well," I said, angry. "It sure tastes like ..."

"Bella Swan," Rosalie said quietly.

Suddenly I was very scared. There was a dangerous edge to her voice.

"What?" I said.

"You listen to me now," she said gravely. "This is water. Your body needs this. You will drink this."

I looked at her form, black in the dark, and looked at the mug in her hand. I felt a tinge of fear, fear of her, and what she just might do to make me.

Then I felt my courage – a little tiny thing – but then I felt it harden into resolve.

"What if I don't?" I demanded, bridling. Tell me what to do? And after what she did to me?

... and what I did to her, but still! I wasn't ordering her around!

"Then," Rosalie said calmly, but with certainty, "you will die. Your body, having no fight in it remaining, will succumb to the venom, and you'll know what it is to be eaten up from the inside out."

"You will die. And, with business being unfinished such that it is tonight, Bella, you die due to your obstinate refusal, and I ..." Rosalie paused significantly. "I will be very, very angry with you."

"I ..."

 _"So_ angry," she snarled quietly.

"Yes, ..." I said.

"And you wouldn't like me when I'm angry," she finished.

I swallowed around the lump in my throat. Then I waited for Rosalie, just to be sure, this time, that she was finished.

She was.

"You're right about that," I admitted ruefully.

Rosalie can get really angry sometimes, and sometimes she can lose it. Sometimes I can keep my head around her and try to keep things under control, ...

But sometimes, I can't, and that's when things get really scary.

And Rosalie angry with me dead? With me not there to settle her angry self down?

What would she do?

What wouldn't she?

I immediately thought of the town she goes to, five miles from here. How many people were there in it? I didn't know.

How many people would be in it after Rosalie visited her fury upon it.

I didn't know that either.

Rosalie held the cup in front of my face. "Drink," she commanded.

I looked up at her inscrutable face.

"Okay," I capitulated.

Rosalie nodded once, tightly, then tilted my head back, and poured the liquid into me.

It tasted worse now. It tasted bitter. But I anticipated the hell I would be going through, drinking this, and suppressed my gag-reflex, and let it slime down my throat and rest in my tummy, a dead weight, resting inside me.

 _"Bleh!"_ I shuddered as I felt it in me: 'water,' as Rosalie called it.

But 'bleh' was the most positive thing I could come up with.

Rosalie was unperturbed. "Good girl," she condescended and returned the mug to the sink.

And as she left me, I felt it again, this time more surely: her leaving me, and me dying inside.

And the heavy weight of the water inside me, not going anywhere, like water is supposed to, but sitting there in my stomach, like water shouldn't.

Rosalie came back to me, pulling me down into her embrace, and my skin, burning, felt on fire with her touch, but my insides, I felt so sick and so empty, and so ... lifeless. I couldn't move, and that was frustrating, but what was terrifying was that on my outside I felt _everything_ , and almost painfully so – I was so sensitive! – but on the inside, I felt ... _nothing!_ Not me breathing, not my heartbeat, not anything, and that scared me.

"I'm cold," I complained.

I don't know if I were cold or not.

So I don't know why I said that.

Rosalie kissed me lightly on the top of my head. "I know, b-... sweetie. I'm sorry."

She wrapped me in a blanket.

I slept.

...

What would your last words be? Have you ever thought on that?

Funny how my last – spoken – words were 'I'm cold.'

How stupid is that?

...

Something was hurting me. Badly. I felt a heaviness on my chest.

I couldn't see.

"Bella,"

That voice. It was so far away. It was ... I recognized it.

 _Thump-Thump-Thump-Thump._

I hurt so much.

Then something filled me up inside so much I was fit to bursting at the seams.

"Bella,"

The voice again.

 _Thump-thump-thump-thump._

A terrible pounding: each _thump_ an incredibly painful hammer-blow on my chest.

I just wanted it to stop!

Then the filling up inside.

"Bella,"

 _Thump-thump-thump-thump._

 _Breath._

"Baby," the voice said, "your heart has stopped. The venom. Your whole body has shut down."

I was slightly annoyed, in an abstract way, that I was being called a baby. I'm _not_ a baby!

But then the terrible pain resumed it's God-awful pounding in my chest.

 _Thump-thump-thump-thump._

 _Breath._

"Baby," the voice said, "this is how your heart beats."

 _Thump-thump-thump-thump._

 _Breath._

 _Don't call me baby!_ I screamed.

But my body didn't obey me, and nothing came out of my mouth.

"Bella," the voice said, "I can do this forever. I can."

 _Thump-thump-thump-thump._

 _Breath._

"But for you to live, you have to tell your heart to beat on its own. This is how it does it, Bella. Can you feel it?"

 _Thump-thump-thump-thump._

 _Breath._

 _No!_ I screamed. _I don't! Just leave me alone! Let me sleep! O, God! It hurts! Lemme alone!_

"Bella," Rosalie said.

Oh. It was Rosalie. Being a royal pain about everything, as always! I swear, sometimes I just wanna smack her! Why can't she just let me sleep?

 _Thump-thump-thump-thump._

 _Breath._

"Bella," Rosalie insisted, "this is your choice now. You have to want to live more than I want you to, do you understand?"

 _Thump-thump-thump-thump._

 _Breath._

"And I so very much want you to live, Bella. You die on me now, and I will be quite sad, don't you know that?"

Wait.

 _Thump-thump-thump-thump._

 _Breath._

What?

"Bella, ... baby, ..." Rosalie said gravely. "I'm stopping. You have to make your heart beat now. You. Not me. I will not help you any more. This is your choice. Choose."

No.

No.

Nonono.

The painful _thump_ ing on my chest stopped, but, instead of going away, the pain just got worse and worse. My chest constricted on itself, tighter and tighter, choking me. My own chest was choking me to death by refusing to move. My heart now was a dead thing, refusing to beat.

I was dying. I felt it.

No.

Rosalie.

Please.

Don't stop.

Please.

I don't want to die.

I want to live.

But I can't.

I can't do this on my own.

Rosalie.

Help me.

"Baby, ..." I heard from a million miles away.

And then...

Nothing.

* * *

 **A/N:** The end.

Rosalie will _not_ go back on her word. She said she won't help anymore. She said Bella has to choose, that she has to beat her own heart now.

Or: how can this story possibly continue, Rosalie, proud Rosalie, being who she is? How can she keep her precious word – more important than Bella's life, apparently – and, at the same time, Bella still be here? That is, on this side of the River Styx, as Rosalie quite clearly abhors the third option, undeath, and would never give Bella that curse worse than death.

And this author won't be introducing any _deus ex machina,_ in case you're wondering, so no magical resolutions that solve this sticky situation.

So, how can this not be ...

The end.

Or is it?

Question: Bella begged: "Don't stop." ... Shall I stop?

How would Rosalie answer? Wouldn't Rosalie be happy that Bella is now in heaven?

But that's the next chapter.


	7. Now

**Chapter Summary:** So. This is what it's like to be dead. Nice. Kinda borin'. Except that Rosalie's still bugging me. Can't get away from her, even in death. I thought this was heaven. Maybe I'm wrong. Maybe I'm in hell.

* * *

"Bella,"

I looked around me.

I was in heaven. I had to be. White. Pure white as far as the eye could see, so there was no 'there' nor 'here' I was just ... in white, and 'arrayed in splendor'? I now knew what that meant, for my raiments were of purest white, spun from the very light itself.

Was I Standing? Sitting up? Reclined?

I don't know.

Not anymore.

But there was Rosalie.

White, white, white Rosalie, in contrast to the white surrounding her of this white place of whiteness. There was white, and there was Rosalie. And looking at her whiteness would burn away my eyes if I had them.

Her long golden hair was radiant beams haloing the twin Suns that were her eyes.

I thought she was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen.

But that was before now.

"Rosalie," I breathed out.

Without breathing.

My eyebrows clouded. The whiteness remained unchanged however. A practical concern nagged at me.

"Where am I?" I asked simply.

Rosalie's golden eyes pondered this.

Then her face shrugged, dismissing my question as unimportant. Other matters concerned Her Majesty.

"Bella," she said, "what, today, did you like?"

 _"Ha!"_ I laughed, shocked. "Ha, ha, ha!" I almost couldn't stop myself from laughing at her question. "You have got to be kidding me, right?" I exclaimed. "After all that? After I shamed myself so _terribly_ that I would rather _die_ than face tomorrow, and ..."

I tried to touch myself.

I don't know if there was a 'myself' to touch. I had arms. They worked. But that wasn't right: there was no 'I' for me to have arms. I was ... a being, a pure essence, and I was in me, but I wasn't me.

I don't know if I can explain this to you. I think you have to die to know what this feels like.

I shook my head and continued. "And ... guess what! I _did_ die, didn't I?"

Rosalie looked at me. "Bella, ..." she said patiently.

 _"DIDN'T I?"_ I screamed.

There was no echo.

Or.

The echo will happen when my scream bounces across the far wall, infinitely far away, a million years from now.

Rosalie regarded me steadily. "You will have," she said.

"Huh?" I said, utterly confused.

"You will have died," she said more forcefully, "if you don't find something to live for. Right now. What." she demanded, punctuating each word with significance. "Did. _YOU._ Like. About today!"

I blinked at her, shocked, off-put, then angry. "Nothing! Okay? _Nothing!_ Every ... okay, Rosalie, everything just ended so badly! Just like _you_ said!" I accused her shrilly. "Okay? Happy?"

Rosalie shook her head. "There are no ends, Bella, only means."

 _"WHAT?"_ I shouted at her.

"There is nothing to 'end' badly, Bella. The only end is now," Rosalie explained calmly. "The only reason for you to choose to live is the reason you find in this now. No reason: no now... and no you."

She ... her eyes, they reached out to me, trying to say so many things to me, most of them I didn't get, I just got that she was so calmly desperate for me to get this.

And I wasn't getting it. Not most of it.

I did get that she cared very much about whatever this highly intellectual crap was that she was trying to foist on me.

She cared very much about this ... whatever it was.

And somehow it was supposed to mean something to me.

So I tried.

I ignored everything in me that was annoyed at Rosalie Hale bugging me and bore down and thought over my day.

Then I remembered the minor breakthrough.

I looked at Rosalie: "I asked you to stay. And you did."

I blinked, surprised.

That did happen, not a minor breakthrough: a major one. I asked her to stay. And she did.

Rosalie nodded, thoughtful, considering what I said.

"Ask me what I liked about today," she said.

I laughed quietly to myself. I should have expected this, shouldn't I? The only reason Rosalie asks a question is so she can use it to talk about her.

I tried not to let my face show it, but I think a wry smile was trying to force itself there.

My cheeks hurt. It was the struggle to remain straight-faced. You know.

"'What did you like about today, Rosalie?'" I asked sweetly, and even very sweetly at that.

Not too saccarine-y, though, or so I hoped.

Without even noticing my irony, Rosalie answered straight off: "You smiled at me."

I blinked, then shook my head. "Huh? What? ... When?"

I'll have to admit this, I didn't see that one coming. I thought she would say something about herself and how amazingly tolerant she tried to bear all my failings, bodily and otherwise.

"You were reading your book, Bella, and I started lighting the lamps, and you looked up from your book, and you ... smiled at me." Rosalie said, a trace of wonder in her voice.

Her explanation didn't help at all. "But, Rosalie," I said, confused, "that was just ... nothing! I just," I shrugged, "smiled at you. It wasn't, like, anything special at all. It was just ..."

"It was just you, Bella," Rosalie said. "It was just who you are. It came through to me so clearly when you smiled at me, just because."

I made to scratch my head, puzzled, but there wasn't anything like 'my head' to scratch. There was just me.

Being.

I brought my hands down to look at them. Yup. They were there: hands. I flipped them over and looked at both sides of them. How could my hands exist when I didn't, I wondered.

I looked back up at Rosalie and marveled at her. "You," I informed her, "are seriously a piece of work, Rosalie Hale."

"Yes, I am," she said easily. "So," she added briskly. "You ready to get to work, then?"

"Huh?" I said.

"Are you ready to come home now?" Rosalie clarified.

"Where's home?" I asked carefully.

"Where the heart is," Rosalie said, and then, suddenly, she beamed, delighted, and added: "Me! That's where your heart is, isn't it? I am the reason for your existence now, aren't I?"

I snorted, but then I realized Rosalie wasn't 'de-lighted' at all, because her joy just filled this eternity to overflowing with a brightness that was blinding...

For mere mortals that had eyes.

Not a problem for me now.

But I shook my head at her arrogant assumptions.

"Humble much?" I asked sharply.

Rosalie cocked her head at that. "No. I never was. Why do you ask?"

I sighed.

"But, seriously, Bella," Rosalie said, her tone matching the seriousness of her words, even in her radiant joy, "would you be happy here all by yourself for eternity? Really?"

"No," I whispered, looking away.

I looked back at her. "But what about your happiness?" I demanded.

"There is no 'me' to be happy, sweetie," Rosalie said.

I looked at her in utter confusion. "What?" I said.

"Come home now, Bella," Rosalie prompted and raised her hands toward me.

Suddenly, I was cautious.

Rosalie smiled faintly, "I do have it on a pretty reliable source that I'd miss you terribly if you don't..." Then she used her big-eyes on me.

She... okay, ... she actually just pouted at me.

Now, that was just so unfair.

"Okay," I said lamely, hating myself for caving to her every whim. And what was so unfair about it was that it was just so easy for her, too. She didn't even have to try to get me to do exactly what she wanted.

As always.

But I just didn't know what else to do.

I took her hands.

Her hands grasping mine were sure and firm. Solid, not insubstantial like me and this everything-nothing that I was floating in.

"Okay," she said brightly.

And it was. The white got brighter and brighter until everything faded to pure white, and then ...

And then ...

And then ... well: nothing.

Nothing happened.

Except Rosalie's hands, firm, in mine. They were now gone.

"Rosalie?" I said.

Nothing.

Nothing but white.

"Rosalie?" I said, desperation creeping into my voice.

I was all alone, me in this everything-nothing nowhere-place.

"Okay!" I shouted. "Okay! I get it. You _are_ the reason for my existence, okay? Is that what you want to hear? Okay? Are you happy? Because your funny game is so over now, okay, Rosalie?"

"Please?" I said and waited. One... two ... three long agonizing seconds. I counted them in my head, three little numbers that mean nothing, because time didn't pass here.

Nothing did.

"Please?" I begged.

Nothing.

"Rosalie, please," I said, "don't leave me alone here forever. I don't want that. I want to be with you. I ... love you."

Nothing.

Tears welled up and fell down my non-extant cheeks and I 'saw' them fall, forever, until they fell on a little, tiny blue ball floating in an infinite sea of space. A little tiny blue ball. So tiny in all that emptiness, and my tears watered a tiny speck of land on that tiny ball: the Midwest, and crystallized into snow as the cold touched and changed them.

The tears of angels. Rain. Snow. That's what Pa had told me. "It snows when an angel in heaven cries for one of us poor souls down here," he said. "Angels must cry a lot in Winter then, Pa!" I remarked dryly, covering my surprise: this was the most religious I ever heard from him in my life! Pa just shook his head, looking grim. "Angels cry for us all the time, Bella," he said. Then he never spoke of it again.

I gulped.

I don't want to be angel. Please, o, God! Please! I don't want this. I want to be with Rosalie, please! She said she would miss me terribly, and she was just kidding, but ... no, she wasn't! I think she meant it. I think she really meant it, and ...

Please.

Just please.

* * *

 **A/N:** Bella said: "I love you," and nothing happened. Why?

'Amor omnia vincit'-'Love conquers all'? What if there is nothing to conquer?

Hell is this: you can have everything you want, except love. What, then, is there to have?

Bella knows one song:

Down in the valley, valley so low:  
Late in the evening, hear the train blow.

Roses love sunshine, violets love dew,  
Angels in heaven, know I love you.

Bella never got to sing the one song she knew passably well to Rosalie.

Rosalie would have liked that. The song? Maybe. Bella singing it to her? Yes. ... or perhaps, yes. We'll never know, as that is a metaphysical question, and Rosalie does not deal in metaphysics.

Being the rationalist that she is.

That she knows she is, that is.

She's just so sure of everything, isn't she.

And what does that matter now?

Now is all we have.


	8. Savior

**Chapter Summary:** "And they lived happily ever after, ..." Actually, I've never seen Rosalie so happy to see me... except for the little fact that I can't see. At all. That's a problem.

* * *

The first thing I was aware of was a weight, a heaviness. It hurt. It was the weight of having a body.

The next thing I was aware of was a feeling in my chest. I could hear this feeling. It went _thud-thud, thud-thud._ I didn't like this feeling. It was annoying, pressuring and painful.

Then I became aware of a sound, right in front of me.

"Well, now, welcome back, stranger!" the sound said.

It was Rosalie's voice: happy, relieved, worried. It was the most beautiful sound I ever heard.

That's when I threw up; I think I threw up on her face.

I don't know, because I think that's when I blacked out.

...

Softly, uttered with concern: "Hey."

I tried to move. I couldn't. I opened my eyes, or I tried to. It was pitch-back, so I blinked a couple of times, trying to clear my eyes of the grit. This was harder than it should've been, as the darkness tried to enter into me through my eyes. It hurt to blink my eyes, and the crustiness on my eyelids was an annoyance. I felt as if my eyes had dried out.

There was the sound of water splashing in a basin, then a warm washcloth touched my cheek first, then wiped each eye in turn, wiping them clean.

"Th-..." I coughed. "Thirsty," I barely got out my whispered plea.

"'Kay. Gimme a sec," Rosalie said in the darkness. I was sitting, and I found I was actually in Rosalie's lap. I found this out because she lifted me up and placed me next to her on the bed, sitting upright against the headboard. She made sure I would stay that way before she left my side.

I heard movement in the darkness, and I imagined Rosalie got a cup from the cupboard, filled it with water. The door opened, a fell draft brushed against my face that made my whole body shake from the cold, then the door closed.

Rosalie was by my side. She tilted my head back and the cup pressed to my lips. Water, sweet water, went down my throat. Not that crap Rosalie forced down me yesterday, but it was cool, and my body sucked it in, greedily.

I tried to move my head, but I was so weak! My head didn't move in Rosalie's arm. I blinked my eyes open, and utter darkness greeted me.

I swallowed some more water, then some spilled down my cheek onto my pjs.

"Hm," Rosalie _tsk_ ed with displeasure.

She did remove the cup from my lips.

"How long was I ... uh, gone?" I asked. I didn't know how to say it.

Rosalie was thoughtful for a moment. "Quite a while," was all that she answered.

"What time is it?" I said.

"One o'clock," she said.

I blinked a couple of times in the darkness.

"Must be why it's so dark?" I asked. "No moon?"

Rosalie said nothing to that.

"Rosalie...?" I asked.

Something was off.

I waited another second, but then I said: "Can you light a lamp? I need to see you."

I got absolutely no 'read' from her. I couldn't tell why she was being so quiet, and her reticence was starting to scare me.

"Bella," Rosalie said carefully, "A lamp won't help. It's one o'clock in the afternoon."

"Oh," I said.

I blinked again. I blinked hard.

Nothing.

"Rosalie," I whispered, trembling. "I can't see."

Rosalie said nothing, but she came to me and put me back into her lap and she wrapped me in her arms.

"I know," she whispered softly in my ear.

I tried to remain calm. I tried to breathe, but all I heard was gasping, and I knew it was me. It was like a wall of darkness was pressing down on me, crushing me, and all I could do – I couldn't even think! – was to try to breathe.

Each breathe was a struggle, because it was like I needed to see in order to breathe, and, not seeing, my whole body strained to do just that.

And it couldn't.

"H-how long ..." I asked into the darkness. "How long will it be before I can see again?"

I waited, but Rosalie said nothing.

"Rosalie ...?" I pleaded.

I felt Rosalie's cheek tighten. I imagined her frowning.

"I don't have an answer for you," she said.

"You don't have an answer for me?" I said in disbelief. "But ... but ... you know everything! ... about ... everything!"

Rosalie didn't answer me there, either.

"Rosalie ... please!" I said.

"B–... Sweetie," Rosalie said.

She didn't say anything for a while.

I swallowed and closed my eyes. Hoping it would be easier with my eyes closed, not seeing the darkness of not being able to see.

But it wasn't easier. Closing my eyes just made me want to open my eyes, and opening my eyes just let the darkness in.

And I thought ... o! the irony! Being dead, I was surrounded by pure white light, and I hated it.

And now, being alive again, I was swimming in pitch blackness, ... and I hated it.

No: I _hated_ this! It was hard to breathe; it was impossible to see, but it was all I wanted to do!

"Rosalie! Help!" I cried, and yes, the tears started to fall.

"Bella!" Rosalie said as she held me. "Bella, Bella, Bella! I'm here, concentrate on my voice. You are only now, just even now, alive. Baby ste–... Well, what I mean to say," she corrected herself quickly, "is let's take this one step at a time. First, you're alive. That's a huge improvement from just a few hours ago..."

"But I can't see!" I whined bitterly.

I felt Rosalie bite her lip.

"... And you can't see," she acknowledged.

She was quiet, thinking, as I looked out into the inky blackness.

"Are you hungry?" she asked.

"Uh ..." I said, taken aback. "I don't know. What does that have to do with anything?"

"Well," she said, her voice smiling, "we feed you, maybe your body will start to heal and start to repair itself."

"'We,' as in the royal 'we'?" I asked sharply.

Rosalie chuckled at that. "That's my girl!" she declared, pleased, and squeezed me tightly in a bearhug so hard I couldn't breathe.

I fell in love with Rosalie Hale right then all over again, she didn't coddle me – or maybe she did, I don't know – but she was like ... doing everything in her power to be patient and kind to me.

If I didn't know it was her, I would've sworn it was somebody else, the difference in how she extended herself to me now was so marked.

She was trying.

I suppose that means I should try, too, shouldn't I.

"Well, ..." I said, "Okay... just," I added quickly, "go easy on me, okay? I feel a little queasy, you know?"

I felt Rosalie smirk. "So, I should hold off on the steak and kidney pie?"

That's when I found out I was more than just a little bit queasy. At the mention of those foods, everything that was left in my stomach just came right up and out. I vomited noisy, and it sprayed then dribbled down onto my lap.

"Great," Rosalie said sourly.

I couldn't respond, because my stomach lurched again, and it all just came out now.

"Just great," Rosalie said.

She did not sound happy.

Not at all.

...

In the end, after all that mess was cleaned, and me, too, there was really nothing for it. I was weak as a kitten – just so delicate on my insides – so she carried me to the table, but I couldn't even sit up.

So she held me.

In her lap.

And spoon-fed me.

Soup.

Just clear broth. To be honest, it was all I could manage, and, well, really, more than I could manage. I don't think I had more than a few spoonfuls before I was just bone-tired. Rosalie tried, coaxing the spoon against my lips, but ... no.

She was disappointed that I didn't have more, and I was sad she was disappointed, but I just couldn't. My body was shutting itself down, and the very thought of food just made me feel sick–... er.

"Well," Rosalie said finally, "we can try more later, ... I guess."

She picked me up from the table and carried me to the tub, carefully removed my clothes and gave me a bath. I don't know why. She had removed my puke-y clothes and the puke-y sheets from the bed, and I had one fresh clothes over my cleaned-up body. But ...

But I felt better after the bath, warm inside and out, and the smell of the soap on my skin gave a light freshness to the air that helped me, a little bit.

"Rosalie?" I said softly as she toweled me off.

 _"Ja,_ Bella?"

There was that German accent again. Was she teasing me?

This was a sensitive spot for me, and for, I guess, all German-Americans these days. During and after the Great War, Germans were looked upon with suspicion, like we were going to rise up and destroy the country or something? The War was over, for a while now, but the hurt and distrust remained.

So I didn't know if Rosalie's way of speaking was meant to hurt me? I didn't know.

I bit my lip.

"Did I thrown up on you," i asked, "you know, when I ... woke up?"

I could feel Rosalie's frown. "Don't even concern yourself with that, Bella. You're sick. You throw up. So what? Concentrate on getting better, and don't worry about anything else."

"But," I said. "You don't like it when I throw up all over the place. I mean," I added quickly, "no duh, but ..." – what was my point? I didn't know – "... you know," I finished weakly.

Rosalie was quiet.

It was really hard to read her mood when I couldn't see her. I was always assuming she was displeased.

I mean ... that's not far from the mark, ever. But I mean, was she so displeased that she was holding in her anger and was ready to bite my head off? I couldn't tell, so I found myself listening as hard as I could.

Listening is really tiring work, come to find!

"I don't like it," Rosalie said quietly, "when you're weak, and throwing up makes you weaker. I don't like that."

"Oh," I said.

There was a hint of anger in her tone that I found scary. Was she angry with me?

"I thought you didn't like ... you know ... me," I dared. "You know, because ... I threw up on you and stuff ... you know."

"You're saying I know many things, Bella," Rosalie said tightly and picked me up.

"I'm sorry," I whispered.

"And you're apologizing a lot, too," she noted and placed me on the bed, propping me up against the headboard, then making sure I stayed sitting up.

I bit my lip.

I couldn't do anything right for her.

"Then what do you want me to be?" I asked her.

Rosalie dressed me. She put the flannel against my cheek, softly, and I started a little at her touch, as I couldn't see anything in this blackness, but, once accustomed, I let her put on my pjs.

Like I could do anything else! My life was opposites. Pure whiteness in death, and now awake in this blackness. I guess there were no grey areas in my life.

I laughed at myself softly. Rosalie would get a kick out of that.

"Why the laugh?" she demanded.

"Oh, nothing," I said. I tried to shrug. I couldn't, so I just sighed.

Rosalie _tsk_ ed disapprovingly, but she crawled into the bed beside me then pulled me into her.

I liked that.

I really liked that.

"What I want, Bella," Rosalie said, "is for you not to be anything right now. I just want you to rest and recuperate at your own pace, okay? And not make things worse by worrying what I think or feel about your being sick ..."

"... or paralyzed?" I asked.

"Or that ..." Rosalie said.

"... or blind?" I pushed.

"Bella," Rosalie said reprovingly. "You're doing it again."

"Rosalie," I said, "I need to know."

Rosalie sighed. "Or blind," she added grudgingly.

"Rosalie," I said.

 _"Ja,_ Bella," Rosalie said.

This time I heard the slightest smirk in her voice.

I bit my lip. "How long is this going to last?"

Rosalie was quiet.

"I told you I don't know," she said.

I heard her trying to be patient.

Do you know what 'trying to be patient' sounds like?

I got scared.

"Rosalie," I whispered.

"Yes,"

This time there was no teasing in her voice, just a very tight control.

I swallowed. "What if I can never see again? What if I c-can't-can't move n-no more ... anymore?"

I felt my eyes well up and I blinked rapidly in the darkness.

Rosalie held me in the bed for a while. I felt her thinking on my words. Finally she said: "What if you can't see anymore, Bella? What if the paralysis is permanent? What then?"

I took in a deep, ragged breath and a tear fell onto the sheets.

"Ar-are ya gonna ... are ya gonna just ... just ... just ...leave me, then?"

And then I was crying. I was trying to hold it in so hard, but the harder I held it in, the harder it came out, and I was whining like a little baby girl, just like I said I wasn't, crying on the bed, held by Rosalie Hale.

She said nothing.

"Rosalie," I said, desperate through my tears, "I need to know righ' now! Are ya gonna leave me because ... because ..."

I sniffled hard, the snot running from my nose made it hard to breathe.

Some picture I was to her, I'm so sure. And I'm worried about her leaving? Like why! Who would want to leave this walking disaster!

Who couldn't even walk anymore.

I wailed at that thought, and my whole body shook with my emotions running through me.

Rosalie held me tightly, shushing me as I cried, but softly: letting me cry myself out.

...

"Bella," she said.

"Ja, Rosalie?"

I laughed-sobbed, saying her 'joke' back to her. It was funny, us: her and me.

Rosalie breathed soft, deep breaths.

"I am," she said calmly, "very, very angry with you that you should think that of me."

She said nothing more.

I swallowed and sniffled.

She didn't ... _sound_ angry.

But you never can tell with Rosalie Hale.

I bit my lip. "Rosalie," I said and quickly added before she could _'Ja, Bella?'_ me, "I just need to know. That's all. I just need to know."

"So you can die of a broken heart – but _o-so-justified!_ – when I leave through that door? Is that it, Bella?" Rosalie said snidely.

I swallowed. "Yes," I said sadly. "I guess."

"Well, _Miss Swan,"_ she said, sounding really angry now, "you can just be prepared to be disappointed, because that's all I have to say in this matter!"

My whole body tingled when she called me _'Miss Swan'_ like that. I pushed past that feeling ... for now.

"Because ..." I checked carefully, "you won't leave me?"

"You'll just have to find out, now, won't you?" _Miss Hale_ was quite miffed now. "Or did you not hear me when I said I was done?"

But I could deal with 'miffed.'

If she would stay.

"Okay," I said softly.

 _"'Okay'? 'Okay'?"_ Rosalie snarled, really angry at me now. "What does that mean, _'okay'!"_

I took a calming breath and counted to ten.

Okay, I counted to three. Ten was way too long for me right now.

"'Okay' means, ..." I said, but then I stopped and thought about it before I said anything else.

Then I gave her my answer. "'Okay' means 'I love you.'"

Rosalie didn't like my answer at all. "God!" she snarled.

But she didn't let me go.

"Rosalie?" I said.

"Yes, Bella, what?" she said tiredly.

I wanted to ask: _do you love me?_ But she was just so pissed off now. I didn't see a good outcome to that conversation.

"When I was ... dead," I said, "I was ... I was all alone, but you were there with me for a bit, and you said, 'come home,' and I said, 'where's that?' and you laughed and you said, 'Me; I'm your home,' and you were just so pleased with yourself that I wanted to smack you, and _not_ go with you back to here, but then you said would I be happy all alone forever..."

Rosalie stiffened at that.

"... and I said, 'no,' and you said that you would miss me if I didn't and ..."

I swallowed.

"You tried to make a joke of it, teasing me by saying something about 'pretty reliable,' but I knew you really weren't joking and that you really would miss me, but ..."

Rosalie held me, waiting, but then she prompted, "'But' ...?"

"But ..." I said.

But then I didn't have the courage to go on.

Almost.

"But," I whispered now, "now I'm here, and ... all this. Can't see. Can't move. Can't ... just ... I'm just useless ... _again!"_ I shouted, bitter now. "And ... and I'm back, but now I'm so scared, Rosalie. I'm so scared. You're here, but you're not. I feel it. I feel you pulling away, and I feel all alone. And I feel that in you, too, the sadness, the emptiness, and you pretending like that's okay, but ..."

I swallowed. "But I can't see you, and ... it's like my eyes are forgetting. My eyes are forgetting what it is to see, and now I can't ... I can't even see your face in my mind. I can't see how hard you try not to show me anything of what's going on inside you, and ... I'm scared. I thought I could never forget how you look, God's gift and all that."

I tried to make a joke of it. The joke fell flat on its face on the floor.

So lame.

"But ..." I said. "But ... what if I don't see again? What if ... if ... you leave. What if you leave an' you're gone, 'n ... 'n what if I forget you... What if ..."

"Bella," Rosalie said.

"What if you forget me?" I whispered.

Rosalie breathed with me, in, then out. In, then out.

Then she spoke, softly, like a Summer breeze. "Do you remember that first day, Bella?" she asked.

"Which first day?" I asked stupidly.

 _So many firsts_ , I thought. So many firsts in my life, ... with Rosalie Hale.

"The first day in the cabin," she continued, "when you asked to touch my face, because you couldn't believe I was real?"

"No," I said.

The first day in the cabin. When was that? Three hundred years ago?

Maybe.

"Eheh," Rosalie laughted lightly. "You touched my face," she recalled, "and the shock of your face when your palm caressed my cheek, and you realized I was real ..."

Rosalie reminisced in silence.

"You surprise me sometimes, Bella," she finished drily.

"I always do," I rejoined.

Rosalie chuckled softly.

But then her tone got serious. "And you expect me to leave this and go to what? Boring?" she demanded.

I pursed my lips, thinking, or hoping, that maybe this was a compliment from her. Maybe.

"Well, at least I'm not boring," I said, taking what I could get.

"Bella Swan," Rosalie chastised, "I can accuse you of many things, but 'boring' is not one of them."

Rosalie's compliments. You never could tell if they were left-handed or back-handed or what!

"What are the many things you can accuse me of?" I asked her in a small voice.

She sighed, ignoring my question, and taking my hand, put it to her cheek.

"This, ..." she said.

My hand, touching her cheek, was suddenly alive with electricity. It stung with a shock that I did not want to end. Ever.

She continued: "... is real. I am here. I am not leaving you to wolves nor am I abandoning you, okay? You're stuck with me, kiddo, so you just have to live with that."

She gave me back my hand.

"Promise?" I demanded.

"Does everything I say to you have to be sealed by a promise?" Rosalie snarled, annoyed.

"Yes," I said.

"Why?" she demanded, then clarified her question: "Are you saying that my words are meaningless without me saying, 'I promise' all the time?"

"Nooooo..." I said, thinking about how I would answer her. "It's just that ..." I said.

"It's always 'just'-something for you, Bella," Rosalie noted, displeased.

"Lemme finish, please," I said.

Rosalie shifted slightly, but didn't answer back.

"It's just that," I said, and I wanted to glare at her, to punctuate she couldn't intimidate me with her bullying me as to what I was _'allowed'_ to say. I thought we had moved past that.

So I tried to move past that. "Why is it so hard for you to promise me anything... I mean, besides, 'oh, I'll kill you, alright,' which, now, I'm thinking is a seriously major cop-out from you, Rosalie Hale, tricking me into asking for that, so you could just promise the easiest thing in the world for you to do, and now you get to welch on everything else just because of that? I could call you some pretty petty things for doing that, but am I? No."

Rosalie was quiet, then: "So you want me to welch on my earlier promise, so I can give you new ones that mean nothing now? Just words with no force behind them? Hollow comforts?"

 _"No!"_ I shouted.

"Then ... what, Bella?"

"God, Rosalie Hale!" I said. "You, really, are a piece of work, you know? I swear!"

She'd done it. She'd finally ticked me off.

Rosalie retorted hotly, "Oh? Why? Because I have principles and stand by..."

 _"Oh, shut up!"_ I shouted.

I fumed in silence.

Rosalie held me.

I sniffled. "Why do we always have to fight, Rosalie?" I asked sadly.

Rosalie shrugged. "Sometimes we don't," she said softly.

"Like when?" I asked.

"Like when you're dead, Bella," Rosalie answered sharply.

Gosh! _SOMEbody_ sure was snarky today, I swear!

I felt like snapping back an angry retort right then, like: _Oh, isn't that just peachy-keen!_

But I thought about what she said, and how she said it.

"I was really dead?" I asked.

"Yes," Rosalie said.

"I mean," I said, "like, really?"

"Cardiac arrest," Rosalie said, "no respiration. Yes, you were clinically dead."

She stated these facts so ... well: clinically.

"How long?" I asked, just curious.

"Two hours, seventeen minutes and forty-three seconds," she said.

The darkness was all around me. I blinked twice, but it was outside my eyes as well as inside them. Closing my eyes or opening them didn't matter anymore, and my eyes got tired either way.

It was just so exhausting being me.

"My heart was stopped for that long?" I said.

"No," Rosalie said. "Permanent brain damage occurs after several moments of oxygen deprivation, so ..."

"Is that why I'm blind?" I asked quickly.

I could feel Rosalie glower at the interruption. "No," she answered eventually. "I couldn't ... let you g–..."

She paused. "I couldn't let you die. Not now. It didn't seem ... It didn't seem right. So I ... breathed for you and massaged your heart, trying to ..."

Rosalie became quiet; it was a sad quiet.

"I know," I said, "I remember. But then you said I had to choose and beat my own heart now ... I mean, ... then, but I couldn't, Rosalie. I couldn't, and I tried to ask for help, but I couldn't even ask, and ... I was a goner. I mean, how long did you keep me alive doing that?"

Rosalie traced my arm with the lightest of touches.

It tickled a little.

I felt her smile, just a little bit, into my neck.

"I sensed your awareness thirty-six minutes into my resuscitation-effort. I stopped soon after that."

"Thirty-six minutes," I said.

"Yes," she said.

I thought about it. "So for the rest of the two hours ... what happened?"

Rosalie was quiet.

"Rosalie...?"

"I prayed," she whispered.

I blinked, surprised. "Huh? What?"

Maybe I didn't hear her right.

"I prayed," she said. "I asked God to show me what I should do. Did you choose to die? Was this His plan? I needed to know. I needed a sign."

I breathed quietly, listening to her.

I thought to myself, _she needed a sign while I was dying?_

I didn't know how to feel about that. I mean, besides terrified and just so furious with her, that she would throw away my life because God was supposed to tell her something, when obviously she could've just kept me going until ...

... but then I didn't know where to go from there with my thought. Thirty-six minutes she kept going and nothing. When would I quit if it were me and Pa? And I could say, 'Never!' but how long would I really last with nothing from him? How long would I keep trying? Thirty-six minutes? With all the effort Rosalie did to keep me alive, which I was aware of just two or so minutes, so much work! Would I even last five minutes trying to save somebody whose heart stopped with no sign from them?

When would I give up? Five minutes? Ten minutes? And Rosalie kept going thirty-six minutes.

"So ...?" I said.

"So that's when I got my sign," she said.

"Really?" I said. I didn't want to disbelieve her, but ... "What was it?" I asked carefully.

Rosalie took my hand into hers and put it over my heart.

"You brought your hand to your heart," she said, "and ..."

She pushed against my chest, o-so-lightly, one, two, three, four times.

"And you started beating your own heart."

"I did?" I said.

"Yes," she said without hesitation.

"How long did I ...?" I asked, and tried to beat my own heart to demonstrate.

But I couldn't. Nothing in my body moved.

God! So frustrating!

"How long did I beat my own heart, Rosalie?" I asked.

"Another two hours, until 5:41 of the am, when your heart started beating again on its own," she answered.

"Uh ... huh," I said. "I beat my own heart for two hours."

"Yes," she said.

We lay on the bed in silence for a while.

"Just like you showed me just now?" I confirmed.

"Yes," she said.

I licked my lips tentatively.

Did you see the big hole in Rosalie's story? I mean, I'm not stupid or anything, right? Did she expect me to swallow this?

"You didn't ... _happen ..._ " I offered tentatively, "to just, oh, I don't know, help my hand to find its way to my chest and then beat my heart for oh, maybe, some of that time, did you, Rosalie?"

"I said I wouldn't help you anymore, Bella," Rosalie said, "do you recall that?"

"Yes," I said, "that's what you ... _said,_ but ..."

"So," she said, interrupting me, "either I honor what I say, or I don't. There's no two ways about it, Bella."

"So," I said, biting my lip, "either you lose me, which you said you couldn't, because it wouldn't be fair, or you don't not lose me. Oh," I corrected myself quickly, "I mean, either you don't lose me, or you don't."

We were both quiet. Rosalie didn't correct me. She very _much_ didn't correct me.

Damn her.

"Shoot!" I cursed, hating my weakness with words. Rosalie said things that always made her win every single argument, and every time I opened my mouth, I only said things that just helped her win and make me look like a fool!

"I mean, ..." I said helplessly.

I bit my lip.

"You mean...?" Rosalie prompted.

"God damn it, Rosalie Hale!" I snarled. "You _know_ what I mean! Did you move my hand over my heart and beat my heart for two hours, yes or no!"

Rosalie was quiet. "Your hand beat your heart, Bella, not mine. Your hand was over your chest, not mine."

Did you notice that she didn't say 'yes' or 'no'?

"Did your hand move mine? Was your hand over my hand the whole time!" I demanded.

Rosalie was quiet.

She turned in the bed, looking up at the ceiling.

"Ro-..." I said into the silence.

"I may have held your hand, maybe," she admitted very quietly.

"But ..."

Then I just shut up.

No, I didn't 'just' shut up: I actually _screamed_ at myself: _just shut up!_

 _You begged her to save you. You begged to go back to her. And now you're back, because of her, stupid. What do you want? JUST SHUT UP!_

I shut up.

"'But ...'?" Rosalie pressed.

"But nothing." I said quickly. "And thank you." I added.

"For what?" Rosalie asked sharply.

"For saving me," I smiled.

"I _didn't_ save you, Bella! I thought I was cl-..."

"For not saving me, then," I said happily, and my cheeks started to hurt, me smiling so hard.

 _Rosalie saved me._ I thought to myself happily.

 _"Hmmphf!"_ she harrumphed, quite put out.

Rosalie doesn't like losing, not at all.

I slept in my savior's arms.

* * *

 **A/N:** Happy Leap Year-Day. It's an extra Monday this year, so I thought: why not make this extra Monday a little bit better with some MSR-love, huh?

The next chapter will come faster than the next Leap Year-day. Promise.

You, glaring furiously: _Promises, promises, geophf!_

Me: yeah, well...


	9. You

**Chapter Summary:** 'Du' in German means 'you.' It just means 'you' ... unless you say it like somebody from the Old Country, when they are saying it to somebody they love, then it gets really embarrassing for everybody else, and you have to look away. But Rosalie didn't say it that way, did she.

* * *

I woke, I don't know how much later, but I felt rested, and hungry, and I needed to pee.

Something was off, however.

There was a ... smell.

It was Rosalie.

It was honeysuckle and rose, but ...

But if you leave flowers long enough, they start to rot, don't they? And their sweetness goes from fragrant to overpowering and acidy.

Rosalie's scent was heavenly, still, but there was a hint of rot that if you strained, gave the slighted _off-_ taste to the perfume.

And her breathing ... it was just ... _slightly ..._ off. There was a whine to it, a wheezing in it. I don't think anybody else would've notice or even be able to hear, but I had been with her a while now, and I knew her.

Something was off.

"Rosalie?" I whispered.

 _"Ja,_ Bella?" she said lightly.

But her breath said, _Breathe-wheeze-breathe ..._ oh, oh, oh so softly ... like a whisper in a storm.

Like death.

She was in agony.

"Is ... everything okay?" I asked carefully.

"Yes," she said.

There was no strain in her voice. In fact, her voice was a perfect mask of neutrality.

A perfect mask.

"I ... uh ..." I stammered, feeling more pressing matters.

"Of course," Rosalie said. She uncovered me, picked me up, and carried me across the cabin, then pulled off my pj bottoms and panties, holding me in a squat, mid-air.

"Go ahead, sweetie," she said.

I blushed while I peed.

What can I say? Rosalie was just so matter-of-fact about my very private needs, and I guess I wasn't used to the frank way of her care. I don't know if I ever would be.

I finished.

"Hungry?" Rosalie asked solicitously as she cleaned and redressed me.

"Yeah, a little," I said, then I added: "You?"

Rosalie didn't answer. She just carried me to the table and sat me down. I heard her moving about the kitchen.

"Rosalie," I said, "how long has it been since you last went out, you know, to ...?"

"'Hunt'?" she supplied.

"Yeah." I said.

"Six days," she said factually, then put some things in front of me. I couldn't smell what they were, because her scent was so strong. She picked me up, then sat herself down then me in her lap, cradled in her arm, my legs dangling over her leg.

Cradled into her arm, just like a baby being prepared to nurse.

I felt the heat rising from my cheeks. It wasn't from the stove.

"We'll try a bit of toast now, okay, sweetie?" Rosalie said.

I bit my lip. "'Kay," I said, suddenly shy. The way she talked to me – sweetly – further enforced my complete dependence on her, but it wasn't a burden to her, at all. Oh, no: it was quite the opposite, and that was very embarrassing, this new dynamic to our relationship.

That was such a slippery thing already.

Rosalie leaned, just ever so slightly, and got the toast, putting it to my lips.

I took a tiny bite. She had removed the crust, and the toast was slathered with apple butter.

I chewed slowly, savoring the taste of toast and apple butter; homey tastes.

"Good girl," Rosalie purred, pleased.

I blushed, shy.

Then she asked, "Tea?"

I tried to nod. That didn't work. "Yes, please," I whispered.

Rosalie tilted my head back slightly and put the mug to my lip.

It was hot, but not scalding. Rosalie tilted the mug, and the liquid spilled a bit, some falling onto my neck. Rosalie _tsk_ ed, but despite her displeasure, most of the liquid went in.

I swallow a sip. Rosalie gave me a bit more after she saw I was ready for it.

She took the mug away.

"Toast," she said.

We repeated this routine: me in her arms, slowing chewing toast, carefully sipping tea.

The whole time Rosalie cooed over me, just so pleased when I took my small bites or sips, or she just clucked with displeasure when I didn't get it just right. It was ...

It was ... scary. Her caring for me so completely, me doing absolutely nothing, except being a _'good girl'_ or a _'tsk-tsk! Bella! Really?'-_ girl as I ate toast and drank hot tea.

Afterward, Rosalie picked me up as easily as she were lifting a feather, and carried me back toward the bed.

"Rosalie?" I said.

 _"Ja,_ Bella," Rosalie purred. I heard the smile in her voice.

I bit my lip, then said it. "You can call me 'baby' ... if you want to."

Rosalie didn't react at all, she just put me gently into the bed.

"I don't want to," she said finally.

"Why not?" I asked, surprised by her answer.

"Because you don't want me to," she said.

"I changed my mind," I said.

Silence.

"Why?" she asked.

I couldn't read her at all.

"Because you want to," I said.

"Bella," Rosalie _tsk_ ed angrily. "I just said..."

"I know what you just said, Rosalie," I said. "You said you don't want to because I don't want to. Well, I changed my mind, so, it's okay: you can if you want ... if you want to now."

 _Bleh!_ Why do my words always say things the wrong way?

I heard Rosalie drum her fingertips on her arm angrily, "After you so vehemently asserted you're not my baby, Bella, – _and you're not, by the way, okay?_ – you ..."

"Rosalie," I said.

She was using my exact same tone that I used last night to her against me.

"What?" she snapped curtly.

"I'm not a baby," I said. "But I want to be your baby, now. Not like: _'ga-ga, goo-goo,'_ but, like ..."

I blushed.

"Like what?" Rosalie pressed, still angry, not giving me an inch.

So I pressed forward. "Like, just now." I said. "Like just now, Rosalie, where you take care of me when I need to be taken care of."

"Why?" she snarled.

"Because you're happy then," I said.

"What?" she snapped.

"Rosalie," I said softly.

Rosalie blew out a long, angry sigh.

 _"Yes,_ Bella; what!" she said impatiently.

I smiled a small smile.

"Rosalie," I repeated, smiling.

"Well, what?" Rosalie demanded, her patience gone.

"Because you're happy then," I said, "that's why. That's all I want. I love you." I explained.

I paused, realizing what I just said, and what that meant.

"I love you," I said again, "and I want you to be happy."

Rosalie was quiet for a second. _"Jesus!"_ she whispered angrily.

"Did you bow just then?" I demanded archly.

 _"Yes,"_ she answered tightly.

"Good," I smiled.

...

"Rosalie?" I said.

 _"Ja,_ Bella?" she whispered in my ear.

We were ...

Okay, we were cuddling, okay?

Okay.

See, Rosalie had just stood there for a while. And I didn't say anything, but then she relented, or her perfect will crumbled, whichever, I don't care, because then she crawled into bed, cradling me into her.

I think she likes this arrangement. Our 'sleeping arrangements,' as she had called it.

"You were going out, like, once or twice a day before, but now you just stopped going out to ... you know ... hunt. So, ... why six days now? Aren't you ... hungry? Why haven't you gone out?" I asked.

Rosalie traced my arm lightly. It tickled, a little bit. I ignored that.

"Whenever I go hunting, I come back to you dead."

"Not true," I countered, slightly miffed.

"Close enough, though," she answered.

"Oh, please!" I said angrily. "Really, so, now what? You're just gonna stay in the cabin forever?"

"Yes," she whispered.

"Oh, my ... God!" I exclaimed, shocked.

"Particularly now, Bella," Rosalie said over my surprise. "Your condition is critical and requires constant observation."

"Until when?" I demanded sharply.

"Until you've sufficiently recovered," she answered reasonably.

"Which is when? _Never?"_ I shouted.

Rosalie didn't answer.

"And ... _what?_ You gonna starve yourself until then on my account?" I pressed.

"Actually, I should be able to last ten or more days between hunts, so ..."

"You _'should'?"_ I shouted.

"Technically, ..." she said, musing, "I could last indefinitely, because, being an energy sink I could ..."

 _"Technically?"_ I screamed, really angry now.

Rosalie had no answer for me.

"Rosalie," I said, "go out. Now."

"No," she whispered.

"Why?" I demanded.

Again, no answer.

In fact, she wasn't breathing, but I could still hear it, the pained, needy whining. It was a hum radiating from her gut out to her arms down to her fingertips, caressing me, and her scent, ... it was sweet: over-sweet... sickly-sweet.

"Rosalie," I said, "remember how you said how I wouldn't like you when you're angry, well," I said, "guess what? For your information, I'm _really_ angry right now, and the only thing that's gonna save your hide is if you skedaddle. How're you thinking you can take care of me when you can't even take care of yourself, I swear."

"Ooh, scary!" Rosalie said weakly, trying to sound petulant.

"Rosalie," I said annoyed, "just go, before I get really angry!"

"But you said you already were," she answered softly, sadly.

 _"Angrier!"_ I shouted angrily.

"Bella, ..." she said.

 _"GO!"_ I screamed.

"You die," she whispered, but so clearly my shout was nothing to her whisper, "and I may not be able to revive you this time."

"So I won't die, okay?" I snarled. "Jesus!"

Rosalie bobbed my head.

I _tsk_ ed furiously. "I mean, what do you think of me? _Don't answer that!"_ I added quickly, "just _GO!"_

"O...kay," Rosalie relented.

She got up from the bed, pulling her arms away from me, and I felt it, my soul, my being going with her as she pulled away, but I was just so angry now – _Rosalie Hale! Who does she think she is? Not taking care of herself, and she expects she can manage me!_ – that I bore down and ignored it.

I felt her leave. My ears, super-sensitive now, almost twitched following her every movement about the cabin. Who knew it took her so long to just _go,_ but I heard the sounds of her dress slipping off her in a whisper ... and, okay, I blushed, okay? ... and then the sounds of her sliding into something harsher ... jeans, maybe?

She'd kill the jeans-casual look.

She'd kill any look, obviously.

I wish I could see her.

"Bella, ..." she whispered. The longing in her voice almost physically pulled me right up out of the bed.

I wish it actually did.

Then I heard the door open and then close. A blast of cold air sent a chill over me that touched my very soul.

"Rosalie?" I whispered.

Nothing.

No _'ja,_ Bella?' that had so confused and annoyed me every time she said it.

She was gone.

I never felt so alone in my life.

I tried to be brave. I told myself that I told her that she had to do this for her own good.

That's what I said.

But why did it fall on me to have to tell her what she had to do?

Why did she have to leave now, when, inside, my heart ached with emptiness?

The tears fell, damn them, and somewhere, a girl was sobbing softly.

Why did she even need me? Why would she ever come back now? My fears returned. I was helpless now, and useless: an invalid. The bitter irony of this was I practically shoved her out the door, giving her the excuse now to leave and never to come back.

The girl's sobs got a little louder.

Why didn't this stupid girl just shut up? It was her own damn fault! I hated this girl.

Softly: "Bella,"

I absolutely screamed.

Rosalie sighed.

"See, this is why I said I didn't want to go," she explained crossly.

 _"I THOUGHT YOU WERE GONE!"_ I shouted, scared out of my mind. Scared, embarrassed, and now ashamed that she caught me like this.

Rosalie sat next to me on the bed. She touched a hanky to my cheek, then covered my nose. "Blow," she commanded tightly.

I blew my nose against the hanky.

Rosalie folded it. "Blow," she commanded again. I did.

"Bella," she _tsk_ ed, "are you a three-year-old? A three-year-old can do better than that. Now, blow!" she said. I sniffled, then blew hard.

Not hard enough to blow out my brains, but my head _was_ clearer now.

Of snot, anyway.

Rosalie took away the hanky. "What am I going to do with you, Bella Swan?" she asked, displeased.

"I don't know," I whispered, then asked: "What are you going to do with me, Rosalie Hale?"

Rosalie sighed. "Well, I can't leave you if you're going to exacerbate your condition by ..."

"'Sulking'?" I offered sulkily.

"... _dwelling_ on the ' _misfortune_ ' of you taking some responsibility, finally," she huffed.

Rosalie emphasized the word 'dwelling' to make sure I got it. Oh, I got it all right!

 _"'Finally'?"_ I emphasized a bit of my own right back at her.

Rosalie growled.

"So," she said impatiently, "shall I stay?"

"No, go," I said sadly.

I could feel Rosalie seething. "... God!"

"Rosalie," I said, "Just go, okay? Just go!"

I wish I could turn away, so she wouldn't see me. I just wanted to be furious with her, and not miss her to death. But I knew my tell-all face was revealing what I didn't want it to.

"And come back to what?" she demanded.

Now I was the one who had no answer for her.

I felt Rosalie's hand rest on my shoulder, which shocked me. She was so silent! I wish I could see, but the darkness in my eyes was impenetrable.

She brought her hand up to my cheek. "Be here," she said, "when I come back, alive, and well, and ... I'll make it worth your while."

The temperature in the room rose a degree or so, maybe?

That's how I explain the sweat trickling down from my armpits.

"How?" I whispered, scared.

Rosalie didn't answer, not aloud, anyway, but she tilted my head back, her lips brushed mine, lightly.

And then she kissed me, a soft, sweet, lingering kiss.

When her lips finally left mine, my heart was beating a million miles to the minute.

"I'll let you figure that out, baby," she purred sweetly.

"You..." I breathed and swallowed hard. "You mean ..."

I blinked rapidly but then frowned, suddenly scared and furious. "Don't you ... toy with me, Rosalie Hale. Don't do this to me unless you damn well follow through, or I swear to God..."

"Bella, language," Rosalie said, a quiet command.

"Language nothing!" I shouted angrily, the my voice grew steely. "I ... I swear, I'll die if you spin me up and welch on this again, and you damn well know it! You promise this to me now, ..."

"I've _promised_ _nothing!"_ Rosalie cut in.

"... and you come back with a stupid change of heart and are all like, 'no, this isn't right,' and I swear!" I continued, undeterred.

Rosalie deliberately and firmly entwined my hair in her right hand, then seated my chin in her left. My head was in a vise of her hands and I was very effectively silenced. "I hear you, Bella," she said. "Now you hear me."

She held me still until she knew I was listening.

Then she continued, her own cold fury a seething undercurrent of her words: _"N_ _othing_ is going to happen if I come back to you dead or dying or in such a delicate position that I have to nurse you back to health, ... _again! Anything_ that will happen, _will_ happen, sweetie, but only if you're game when I come back, so _you,_ young lady, better _damn_ well surprise the _fuck_ out of me with your _marked_ improvement upon my return or else there will be hell to pay, not heavenly bliss, and that's the deal, sweetheart, get me?"

I glowered in her hands: _"Leths!"_ was all I could manage through my tightly pressed-together teeth.

"Good girl," she condescended in a snarl matching my own anger measure for measure.

But then she leaned in and kissed me.

Firmly.

Softly.

Passionately.

For a long, long time.

When she broke the kiss I was seeing something all right: stars. Sparks danced around on the insides of my eyeballs in the pitch blackness that was now my life, and my breaths came in quick gasps as I sucked air back into my lungs.

Rosalie didn't need to knock me down with a feather: the kiss had done its job but good, and my body was all aflame and aflutter.

I bit my lip, as the warmth suffused my body, turning everything inside me to liquid. "You could ... you know," I said quickly, "I mean, stay ... now, and ..."

My tell-all face looked hopeful.

"I don't, ..." Rosalie cleared her throat.

"No, it's okay, ..." I said quickly.

"... I'm sorry, sweetie," she said, equally flustered, I heard. "I don't trust myself now," she finished.

"... It's all right; just go," I said at the same time.

And I was embarrassed that I was shoving her out the door again, when I really didn't want to, and I don't think she wanted me to, either.

"Okay," she said sadly, her voice hurt, and I felt her rise from the bed.

"Okay," I said sadly, and I told myself: _This is for the best. She does need to go out and take care of herself. Really._

Then I told myself: _God damn it! Just God damn it and why is 'the best' have to suck so much?_

I felt her leaving me.

"Rosalie," I said.

Nothing from her.

That hurt.

"I love you," I said.

I tried to say it like ... just like: _I love you_ and that's it. Not like, _I love you and please come back._

I tried.

Rosalie's silence was conflicted. "I ..." she said, then, clearing her throat quietly said: "Take care of yourself, Bella Swan; do."

And then she was gone.

* * *

 **A/N:** The German word for 'thou' (In English: 'you,' familiar form) is _du,_ meaning _beloved,_ and sounds exactly like Rosalie's final entreated word for Bella to take care of herself: _do._

This note has no bearing on anything. I only mention this observation in passing.

 **ps:** I struggled with this chapter title. _Struggled!_ "Tell-all Face"? "Tell-all but say nothing"? "Do"? "Du"? "German"? I settled, begrudgingly, on "You" because, you know: I have to publish this chapter, and, fittingly, I thought, this chapter is all about "you." (German: du or 'thou'). Martin Büber's work: _ich und du,_ or _I and Thou_ is about getting so much into the other person that they are no longer _Other_ but they are _You_ : _du/thou_. In this chapter, all Bella's concern is is just and only Rosalie, even though Bella is dying inside, and all Rosalie's concern is Bella, even though Rosalie is dying inside. Both would rather die than see the other hurting, and doesn't that hurt so much? Isn't it sad that the only solution here is that they have to part?


	10. Rosalie Hale is the Worst

**Chapter Summary:** This is big. Rosalie asked me to trust her and I did, with my life, and, well, even more than that. But then why won't she trust me? I can't hurt her! Why won't she trust me with just three little words, but no. After this special moment we shared, why couldn't she ...

I have never been more hurt in all my life.

Chapter is lemon-scented.

* * *

Alone, again.

I thought on Rosalie's parting words. She said 'marked improvement' because if I were dead then there'd be hell to pay. But what would ever make her think that I would just up and die?

... I mean, besides all the times she found me almost dead.

Okay, don't look at me like that.

But 'marked improvement.' Could I just magically see again? It was pitch black inside my head, so I had no idea if it were night or day. And I couldn't move a muscle.

Luckily I could talk still ...

... Hm. I don't know if Rosalie liked me talking all that much. The way she gripped my head – _firmly! –_ to silence me, so she could lecture me about how _she_ wanted things to be. _Hmmphf!_ Like I was some rag-doll she could do anything she wanted to.

Not that she couldn't in the first place, _but still!_

And not that I didn't want her to when she left me instead, the taste of her kiss still on my lips...

Oh! Why _wouldn't_ she do what she wanted to me ... with me ... on me? I mean, was I begging her to? Well, ... _yes!_ But did she?

No. She always ... _just ..._ didn't ... _quite_ ... have her way with me.

If Rosalie were trying to drive my crazy, she was doing a damn-fine job of it, and that's all I have to say!

It was that damn sense of righteousness she had. _'This isn't right,'_ she said, just as she was about to have me, and, worse, when I threw myself at her – I mean: I practically _threw_ myself at her – she runs away, and how does that make a girl feel, I ask you! You throw yourself at somebody and they run away!

Was I gawky? Yes.

Was I stupid? Yes.

Was I ugly? Well, ... yes!

I was everything wrong, giving her every reason in the world to reject me. I mean, if she wanted to set me down, just one withering look from her, and it'd be over.

But the thing is: she didn't! _That's_ what so frustrating about it all!

I mean, she'd tease me, she'd scold me, but never so much as to crush me ... I mean, crush me in her estimation. I may feel different at times (like: a lot of the time when she's on her royal high horse), but she didn't! She didn't actually purposely belittle me.

And she kept sending me these mixed signals, she'd want the best for me, and then she'd want me, then she'd tear herself away from me. It wasn't like she were toying with me, but it was like she actually wanted me.

And when I woke to me savaging her last night, she held me to her. She held me together even as I was falling apart. I mean, how do you explain _that?_

Because I can't.

I mean, ... I _love_ her. I love her so much it hurts, but ... she lets me say I love her, she even scolds me when I don't! ... but she doesn't say it back to me.

Not once.

I mean ...

Okay, ... I don't know if I can go on here. I love her; she wants me, and she wants me to be good, and she says I deserve better than her, so she won't say she loves me back? Is that why? Is that the reason?

I mean ... this is so stupid! I deserve better than her? Where the _hell_ does she get that idea? I mean: I could say that to her about me!

 _God!_ She can be so stubborn at times, I swear!

But if I did say she deserved better than me, I'm afraid she just might actually take my words to heart and say, 'You know, Bella, you're right. I do deserve better than you – _way_ better than you! – I can't believe I would even entertain the thought of you and me ever ...'

And then she would burst out laughing, her laughter full of relief now that she saw how stupid she was even to consider me, even to have ever wanted me.

That's where I sat right now, on this bed, paralyzed, blind, and Rosalie was out there, somewhere, because _I_ sent her out, and maybe, like I said so many nights before, maybe she'd meet Mr. Right. Mr. Perfectly Handsome Gentleman Vampire, and they'd fly off into the night, and leave me behind, because now she was done with me, and how long would I last without her?

The fire would eventually die.

And then so would I.

An abandoned cabin in the woods? Who'd ever come out to here in the middle of February after a big snowstorm just to offer a friendly 'hi' to the neighbors who weren't there anymore?

But Rosalie was there when I was having a little pity party that wasn't as private as I thought it was.

Let's not repeat that embarrassing moment, huh? Yeah.

But 'marked improvement.'

Sit ups?

I was sitting up, propped up by my pillow against the headboard.

Push ups?

Ugh. I always did terribly in sports-like activities in school. I was always the last one picked for any team in any sport that the girls played. The only sport I excelled in was 'sitting in the corner,' or 'the girl they looked at as they whispered to each other behind my back.'

And I said I wasn't going to have a pity party. _Remember that, Bella?_ I screamed at myself.

I sighed.

At least I could breathe. God! Not breathing? I couldn't think of anything more utterly terrifying than not being able to breathe, but, worse, then not wanting to: just to sleep and give into the terrible tiredness as it stole away my life, Rosalie fighting so hard to beat my heart that wouldn't beat anymore on its own.

But that's exactly what she did.

Why did she need me so much?

I just couldn't get my head around it. With the crook of her finger, she had Royce King II, the richest playboy in Rochester, New York, at her feet, and then, when that soured, and Royce left her for dead, the Cullens turned her into a vampire, so she could be forever attached to that heartstoppingly pretty-boy, Edward Cullen.

That didn't work out, either.

So, but then ... me? Really?

It just didn't make any kind of sense at all.

And she saw herself as such a logical, structured person, ... well: being.

And I'm so not that. Everything I do was just all over the place. I mean: I wanted structure, too! I would fuss over Pa, making sure he did his job. Men, I swear! How do they even function without women in their lives telling them what to do all day? They'd be totally lost without us!

I felt a sudden pang: I wonder how Pa is getting on without me now?

And me: I liked my quiet time, my reading time, my time alone to my thoughts...

... but now I wanted them with _Her._

But the times we're together we get into these screaming fights sometimes! It's like throwing dynamite into a blazing fire! Just the slightest thing sets me or her off, and then: BOOM!

Why is that? I thought love was supposed to be ... well, lovely, but all we did was fight and fight and fight, all she did was shout at me, and all I did was shout back, and sometimes I cried ...

... and sometimes she held me.

And when she did that, when she held me, _nothing_ else mattered, not the anger and the shouting and the bitterness that tore at my heart ... _All_ of it just went away ...

When she held me in her arms.

Couldn't she feel that, like I did? She kept trying to pretend that she didn't.

But she did.

... or did I just want her to?

When she held me, everything was clear, and when she was away, the doubt crept in and ate away at my soul. When she was here, I was alive, on fire, in pain, in tears, hurting, held.

And when she was away, nothing.

And she said I wasn't boring.

And she said everything else was.

I thought about that. She said I wasn't boring, and everything else was.

Should I be more interesting for her?

Eheh. That's funny. Me, Bella Swan, girl next door, totally invisible. I couldn't imagine anybody _more_ boring than me. But everything I did drove Rosalie into a fever pitch. It was like ...

I don't know what it was like. And that scares me. If I don't know what in me drove her so crazy, or made her so kind, then how could I know how to be to ...

I don't know how to put it: how could I be what so fascinated her?

Yes, that's it. From day one, she was fascinated by me.

Because, okay, Edward was first, and she _hated_ that. She hated that. She was so jealous of her world and how it should be, and I just walked right into it and told them all this is _my_ town and we play by _my_ rules, and they all just stood around gawking while I ran everything around me: Pa, and then, when they arrived, them.

And that drove Rosalie _crazy!_ She's the boss, and she couldn't stand somebody else bossing anybody else around, particularly not her!

Ha! Take that, Rosalie Hale!

Huh.

I never thought of it that way.

And now that she's the boss, she's just so comfortable being bossy, cooing over me to get well, regain my feet, so that what? We can fight again?

Why do we always have to fight?

Except, as Rosalie says, when I'm dead.

I sighed.

I wish I wouldn't die all the time. It was annoying for Rosalie, and she had enough troubles in her, well, her _unlife_ , hating herself as she did. I wish I were somebody that she could rely on, something that she could lean on when she felt weak.

She had said she has no one to talk to now.

It must be really ... lonely, being her. I can't imagine. I _want_ to be left alone, but she was a stunning socialite. Now look at her, even before she carried me off, she was stuck in Podunk, Nowhere, USA, and before that, hiding out all day, and coming out at night when everybody's gone to bed, except the criminal element. Imagine the fall: from Miss New York to Miss Death, lurking in the shadows, and nobody to talk to except Edward, and that must have been a trip, trying to have a conversation with Mr. Broody who plainly despised her, or Dr. Cullen and his wife, who only had eyes for each other and just pity for her.

Ugh!

Nobody in the world now for Rosalie Hale, except me.

How hard can you fall, you know?

I wish I could be better for her, than just being me.

But that's the thing: I'm not better than me. I'm just me. So all I could do is be me!

That, right there, was so darn frustrating!

I was everything wrong for her. I wasn't her Mr. Right. I wasn't even her Mr. Wrong.

I was little Miss Wrong.

How could she want that?

I sighed.

How could she want me?

But the thing is, ... she did.

I closed my eyes around the inky blackness. It would help if I could just understand. I mean, I wasn't a big, powerful, rich man, dressed to the nines, who would give her lots of children to mother. I was ...

I was the total opposite. I couldn't offer her any of that. I couldn't offer her anything, in fact.

The only thing I could offer her was me.

And she wanted that – me – so badly. Even more than I wanted her.

And I just don't get it. I mean, like: _why?_

Why?

Was it because she could coo over me? Is it because I didn't say the dashing, noble things, but the unexpected? Was it because I could bring nothing to the table? not money, not children, not manly ... manliness, but just little me that she could boss and push around ... and push me off whenever she felt like it?

I could threaten her with nothing ... except...

Except when I got into her head, which she never let me do.

And except when I got into her heart, which she would never, _ever,_ let me do.

So even though I had my moxie, it was still safe for her. She could set me down over her knee if I spoke out of turn, or she could just run away whenever it got uncomfortable for her, but she always knew she could come back to find me dead, _haha,_ or lost or just waiting for her, pining for her, because she had the whole world to go out to when she wanted to avoid me, but me?

Me?

Rosalie was my whole world now. It was just her, me, and this little one-room cabin, and that was my entire existence.

Pathetic.

That's what I am: pathetic! And when I think I hit rock-bottom, this happens, and I can't move, and I can't see.

All I can offer is me, but the irony here is there's not even that much of me to offer!

I mean, really! Who would take a blind, paralyzed, ... _plain ..._

I stopped myself.

This wasn't helping.

This wasn't helping, and the thing was, Rosalie said _she_ would take me...

If I were markedly better, that is, and, you know, not dead and stuff.

I think ... this time ... I could maybe manage the 'not dead and stuff.' But I keep coming back to what does 'markedly better' mean?

I frowned.

It meant nothing. If I could get up from bed and make my own peanut butter sandwich, Rosalie could still say, 'Oh, that's not good enough, Bella,' and be displeased with my progress.

I can't even wiggle my toes, for goodness sake!

I tried to wiggle my toes to confirm just that.

And almost screamed.

My toes didn't wiggle, _per se,_ but I felt the slightest of movement of my toenail against the sheet.

Damn.

I mean: _hot damn!_

I mean: wow! My toe almost wiggled!

I almost peed myself in my excitement!

 _THIS_ was progress! This was amazing! I could, well: almost, move my toes again!

Well, maybe one of them...

Well, maybe just jerk my foot a hair's-breath, but still!

I furrowed my brow in concentration focusing my attention on my feet, trying to move my toes again...

... Nothing.

 _Come on! Come on! COME ON!_ I shouted to my feet.

... Nothing!

I tried again.

Nothing.

I tried again, really hard, holding my breath, concentrating everything on my feet.

Nothing.

"Damn it!" I shouted in frustration. "Damn it! Damn it! Damn it!"

I tried again.

 _Please!_ I begged. _Please, o God! Please-o-please-o-please!_

 _scrtch..._

"YES!" I squealed.

Just the slightest of movement, but it was there again! I swear!

Beads of sweat started to form on my forehead, and I worked at it for a while. It got harder and harder as I went, not easier, but I was determined beyond all measure now, and not because of Rosalie's ... 'incentive.' No.

Not at all.

No, it was now this: I could get better! I _was_ getting better! I could recover!

Exhausted, tired, head aching, I took a break from the toesies.

My legs hurt from all the tensing and relaxing, tensing and relaxing as I tried to coax even just the slightest movement from them.

I was propped up a little bit, my hands on my lap.

Hm.

 _Okay,_ I thought to myself.

I tried to move my finger.

 _"Oh! YES!"_ I shouted.

My index finger had just twitched, just the slightest bit.

Okay, then! I thought. Let's try my hands for a while.

...

The door _BANGED_ open. My vision wasn't clearing, but I could now see a formless blob of grey limned by a formless block of light from the doorframe.

"Rosalie!" I shouted happily, wanting to share the good news.

 _"YAAAAARRRRRRRRAH!"_ she screamed so loudly the rafters shook, dust settling on my face.

What?

Something was wrong with her voice. It was monstrous. Possessed.

But before I could even form that thought, or be surprised, stone-cold hands grabbed me by the throat and flung me across the cabin.

 _KWAM!_ My body, a rag doll, flew onto the big, oak table. The table won. I didn't. I lay there, face planted against hard wood, my hips screaming in agony.

"Ow?" I whimpered.

Rosalie was on me in an instant. Was it even her? Yes, it was. No, it wasn't. It was a monster with her shape and feel and scent. She ripped my pjs off my back, the pjs digging into me before giving then ripping away.

"Rosalie, what ..." I said.

 _"Shut up!"_ She rammed her body into mine as she screamed. _"Shut up! Shut up, you little, fucking CUNT!"_

She kicked open my legs and started to thrust viciously into me, over and over.

 _"AAAAAARRRRHH!"_ she screamed, and I heard ripping again. Suddenly, there was nothing between us, as she had ripped away her jeans, and I felt her cold, smooth skin, not caressing mine, but sliding against it with an urgency that spoke of an imperative that overrode everything, even reason.

Her mind was gone, totally, and what was left was her body driven by impulse, by desire.

But then I felt something else, between her legs, bumping against my nethers, then lengthening, rubbing along my lips and poking its way into me.

"Is that ..." I gasped.

Rosalie raised her fist and smashed it into my jaw. The force of the blow was so powerful that her fist smashed right through the solid oak table.

Half my face was now mush. I knew that was supposed to hurt, intellectually, but I couldn't feel anything at all.

 _Shock,_ I thought. There was so much pain from the blow, from everything, that I was overwhelmed by it all and felt nothing, my body just closing in on itself, trying to protect itself for just one more precious moment.

I tasted wet iron and could not feel my face anymore. I felt a wetness, like water, pooling under my face on the shattered table.

Then – _RAM!_ – a sharp bite of pain as Rosalie thrust into me, a tearing, and Rosalie was in me, fucking me furiously. I don't know how. I don't know why, but she had a ... thing, and she was fucking me with hard, brutal thrusts. I gurgled through my shattered jaw, drowning in my own blood, stopping up my windpipe and trickling into my lungs as Rosalie pounded into me, rutting without reason.

The blood misted about me. I could smell it; I could taste it.

And it drove Rosalie into a frenzy.

 _"Bear! My! Child!"_ She shrieked as she fucked me. _"BEAR MY CHILD! AAAAAAAAAAIIIIEEEE!"_

And the last thing I did see, and I did see clearly now, was me, standing outside of me, looking at a battered, bruised and bleeding rag-doll being ravaged by the most beautiful monster in the world.

Then Rosalie bent down over me and bit into the mush that was my jaw, sucking at my jaw as she came, shuddering, into my lifeless, still form.

And then ...

And then ...

Nothing.

There was a corpse on the table, being sucked dry, and I went away.

But there was no more me.

I was dead now.

...

 _"BLEARGH!" COUGH! COUGH! COUGH!_

I was ripped out of that moment to this one: me, vomiting noisily onto my chest.

Bad to worse? I didn't know anymore. I couldn't measure where I sat in the world anymore in a state of misery, being pulled back and forth so fast my head felt like it was spinning as the world stood still.

Death to life, and then: death to life.

I was so utterly lost as I puked all over myself.

The door banged open.

"Bella!" Rosalie's voice chided from the door, full of disappointment, "I told you that you had to be better, not to ..."

 _"Get out! Get out! GET OUT!"_ I screamed.

Silence. Then, softly: "... Okay."

The door closed, just as softly.

Was Rosalie inside or outside? I couldn't tell. My vision hadn't returned. I could now 'see,' just a little bit, maybe, I don't know. Maybe I saw the space when the door opened, maybe my mind painted that picture in emptiness that my sightless eyes no longer filled.

I didn't know. I didn't care.

I just screamed and screamed in anger and fear and rage ...

... and confusion and bitterness ... and ...

... and ... _oh, God!_... Oh, God! In sadness.

That what it was: it was sadness. The sadness of Rosalie coming back, but not Rosalie, but a monster that threw me about, used me, and then discarded me.

But worse: ...

The sadness of Rosalie coming back, and me screaming at her to get out ...

... and her leaving.

Why did she leave when I needed her so badly?

I screamed and I screamed and I screamed, a wail of no words, just the sound of despair.

And then my throat hurt, and I was sobbing, not screaming, just crying, the hot puke all over my front making me feel dirty and small.

And then, after a while, I stopped crying, just an occasional sob, just an occasional gasp shaking my whole body, threatening to topple me from my seated position. Would I fall and hit the floor – _clunk! –_ and break my head open?

Wouldn't that just be rich? The icing on the cake!

I swallowed hard, snot and puke easing down my throat, making me want to puke again.

God! Whatever it was going down the second time was _terrible!_

What did I eat?

Why can't I remember ... what Rosalie fed me?

I sniffled.

"Rosalie?"

Rosalie was quiet for a moment. I couldn't even hear her breathing, then, softly, "Yes, Bella?"

"I thought I told you to get out!" I said loudly, angrily.

"I am out," she said.

"Oh," I said.

I pondered this.

Then I asked, "Why can I hear you like you're right next to me, then?"

"Because I am," she said.

I took in a sharp breath. "You are?"

"Bella," Rosalie _tsk_ ed, "I'm outside, okay? My back is against the wall, all right? God!"

She sounded annoyed.

My lips quivered, and I took in a shuddering breath.

"Rosalie, I'm scared," I said.

Rosalie was quiet. "I know, baby," she whispered, her soft voice clear, pure, sweet, and ... caring.

This was the different Rosalie, not the monster, but that didn't make me feel better.

Okay, maybe it did... but just a little bit.

"Why did you do it?" I asked in a small voice.

"Do what?" she asked.

"You _know!"_ I shouted, angry and afraid again. "You _KNOW! YOU KNOW WHAT YOU DID!"_

I was screaming now, but I couldn't stop myself. The realities, life and death, whirling around each other so furiously, that I could no longer tell which was which. Was this the dream? Was I still dead now and in hell, covered in my own puke? I couldn't tell anymore.

"Yes, I know what I did," Rosalie said dejectedly.

I gasped. "You ... you do?"

"Yes." Bitter.

I blinked rapidly, fresh tears falling now on my salt-tracked cheeks.

"Everything," Rosalie continued. "I did everything wrong. That's what I did. I did every, single thing wrong. All of ..."

"No!" I shouted. "Don't you play me, Rosalie Hale!"

"I'm _not!"_ she shouted right back.

And there was the difference between her shout and mine: when she shouted, the rafters shook.

And she said she had her back to me, too.

I swallowed. "Rosalie," I said, "did you come in here and ... and ..."

I gulped.

"Baby," Rosalie said, "I came in, you were vomiting on yourself."

"No!" I said, not at all satisfied, "before! Did you come in before!"

"Before _when?"_ Rosalie snapped back, peeved.

"Before!" I said. "Did you come in and ..." I gulped, then I took a deep breath and steeled myself. "Did you come in and th-throw me on the t-table and ... and ..."

"What?" Rosalie said, surprised. "Baby! No! I didn't do any such thing!"

"Y-you ... didn't?" I asked.

"No," she said, "I didn't."

I took in a long, ragged breath. "Rosalie," I whispered, "I'm scared."

"Yeah," Rosalie said sadly, "me, too."

It was quiet for a while.

"Can I come in?"

I pondered this.

I was scared. She knew this.

She was scared.

But she was doing something despite her fear, unlike me, who was just wallowing in terror.

"Yes," I whispered.

Not a sound.

But the door was open now.

"I'm at the door, baby," Rosalie said.

"I... I know," I said.

"You can see me," Rosalie stated.

"N-not really," I said, "I can see ... maybe a little light from the doorway ... and maybe a little less where you are standing."

Rosalie remained by the doorway. "May I come in?" she asked again.

"Okay," I said.

The door closed. My world became dark again.

"Is it okay if I clean you up just a little ..." Rosalie offered, then, just the slightest hint of wryness entered her voice, "or, perhaps, much more than just a little?"

"I ..." I said, then biting my lip, I capitulated. "Yes, please," I whispered.

It was like this. Rosalie was inside. She could clean me up, or she could do whatever she wanted to do to me, with or without asking. I didn't have to make it difficult for her, too, now, did I?

Rosalie picked me up out of the bed as easily as you'd pick up a leaf up off the ground in Fall.

I gasped at her touch: cool, cold, electric.

Solid.

"'Sokay, baby," Rosalie whispered reassuringly, "I've got you."

"Yes," I whispered into her shoulder, "you do."

Rosalie set me down into the basin, resting my head gently on the rim she had made just for silly me and my stupid clumsiness and ripped my shirt right down the middle of my back, gathering the puke into a ball.

"Bad dream?" she inquired gently.

"Yes," I whispered. "The worst."

"Do you want to talk about it?" she asked. "I gather I was the bugbear, yes?"

I gulped. "The thing is ..." then I started as Rosalie poured water over me. I took a shuddering breath.

"Hold your breath," Rosalie warned, then poured warm water over my face.

Cleansing me.

I realize, now, looking back on my life – my life before now – that I was a dirty, grimy, little shit. I was basically a guy: a guy on horseback out on the plains, weatherbeaten and ... ugly. Just plain, little stick-figure me.

I had never been so clean in all my life until Rosalie took over ... everything about me.

"The thing is ..." I continued after the interruption, "is that all my dreams are real, Rosalie. They all come true!"

Rosalie was quiet for a moment, stopping her fussing over me. "They may contain insights, Bella," she allowed, "but they're fantastic and fanciful. Name one that 'came true.'"

I answered her right away: "I dreamed you tickled me, and then you did." I said. "I dreamed you were covered in blood, screaming and crying on a rock you crushed, and that's what happened."

Rosalie was quiet.

"I dreamed the Vultur... the Vul..." I paused.

"The Volturi," Rosalie supplied.

"I dreamed they came for us," I finished.

"They haven't," Rosalie countered.

"But, okay, Rosalie, so what?" I snarled, "How did I know about them? How did I know they'd come, like you said they would if ... no: when they find out, huh?"

Rosalie was silent at this.

"And now this," I said sadly.

"I hurt you," Rosalie said.

I swallowed. "You ... you ... you raped me, Rosalie."

She said nothing.

"You threw me on the table, and ... you called me a ... a c-cunt and ..."

Rosalie gasped.

"And you ... you had a ... thing and you ... raped me and you ... and you said, ... I said 'is that ...' and then you punched me in the jaw so hard it ... the whole side of my face was gone. And then you screamed 'bear my child!' and you swelled inside me and came like ... like ... like you were possessed. There was ... I couldn't ..."

I stopped.

I hated myself. I hated being so weak and defenseless. I hated myself for turning her into this monster.

I hated myself for telling her this now: hurting her as I knew it did.

Rosalie sat beside me, still as a stone.

Then, the slightest touch of a feather, her fingertips on my upper arm.

My whole body jerked as if shocked.

It was.

"I am ... _so sorry!"_ Rosalie whispered.

I gulped.

I wish I could see her.

"What does ... 'cunt' mean, Rosalie?" I asked.

Rosalie's arm slid under me and pulled my head into her bosom.

She held me like that for a long time.

"It's what I am," she whispered. I heard her voice in her chest. "I am a fucking cunt."

"That's what you called me," I said.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I didn't. I wouldn't. I will _never_ call you that, Bella."

"What does it mean?" I asked into her chest.

Rosalie sighed.

...

Bed.

"I'm sorry," I whispered sadly.

"Sh, sh, sh," Rosalie shushed me; consolation in her voice. "Just rest, baby, please?" she said. "Can you do that?"

I thought about that.

"It's just that ..." I said.

For the first time, I felt Rosalie's smirk.

My eyes shifted to her, accusing.

"'It's just that,' ...?" The lilt in her voice was obvious now.

I gulped. "I'm better," I said.

Rosalie chuckled. "No, you're not."

I bit my lip. She found this funny. I didn't.

"And ..." I said, ignoring her jab, "... you promised."

"I did nothing of the sort," her tone turned surly in a heartbeat. I bet she was angry for being called out. "And, Miss Swan, if _you_ recall that, you also recall the serious implications of me finding you worse. Which you are."

"... Finding me dead, Rosalie," I corrected her, "which I'm not."

"Oh!" Rosalie retorted hotly, "because finding you covered in vomit, screaming and in shock is so much better? _Please!"_

"Well, it is!" I answered back.

Rosalie fumed.

Then she relented. "I can't believe you're even letting me touch you at all, after that dream you had!"

She was touching me, in fact. We were in bed, like we always were now, she, cradling me in her arms, her leg gathering my legs into her. I was cocooned in Rosalie Hale.

And, no: I wasn't complaining, either.

"It was just a dream," I answered her.

Rosalie was silent.

That was ...

This gave me pause: her silence.

"Please tell me it was just a dream, Rosalie," I begged.

Rosalie didn't answer, but pulled me tightly into her, so tightly I feared I'd be crushed.

Breathing in my hair, she said softly, "How can you discern everything I say to you, and everything I don't, and just wrap it up into one horrible nightmare of truth?"

I gasped, her tight grasp holding my chest so tightly it was just a wisp of air that escaped. "It's true?"

"No," Rosalie said, "it's worse than that, Bella."

I breathed little tiny sips of air.

"Every time," Rosalie said. "Every time I go out to hunt, or to ... whatever, go into to town to buy something for you, or ... to hunt ... I said that already."

Rosalie had a distracted air.

"Bella," she asked, "do you know what masturbation is?"

I bit my lip. "No," I said simply, but inside I felt small bitter self-loathing at my complete lack of sophistication.

"It, ..." Rosalie began.

But then she stopped.

"I went to Esme soon after I ... became this, the day after Edward rejected me in the most uncivil way possible. And I confessed to her my ... _fury!"_ Rosalie spat furiously. "... my anger and frustration, and ... I had all these images of Royce and what he had done to me, and what I would be doing to him, and ..."

She paused, I felt her jaw working. After a moment, she continued softly, more restrained.

"And it was all bottled up inside me, and I didn't know how to let it out without exposing us in a very public fashion."

"So," she said, "Esme ... told me. She said that if I kept this all bottled up inside me that it would drive me to hysteria, and that maybe I needed an outlet whilst so confined. So she showed me."

Rosalie was quiet again.

"She showed you ...?" I prompted carefully.

"Yes," Rosalie said.

But she said no more.

"D-.." I began.

"Every time," she whispered sadly. "Every time I go out now, I ... think of you, and I ..."

She breathed in my hair, even breaths, in and out, in and out, and she held me into her.

"... And I masturbate, you know?" she checked.

I bit my lip.

"And every time, right at that moment of release, after I come out of it, there you are, I see you, beneath me, your dead eyes staring vacantly at me, accusing, reproachful, and I ... Bella, there's nothing I can do, do you understand me? _Nothing!_ You're ... in my arms one moment, cooing, humming with pleasure, and the next moment, you're dead, the blood drained completely from you, or your pelvis and ribcage all smashed to paste, and I can't stop it, don't you see? I can't stop what I don't even know what's happening! And this happens every single time that I ..."

Rosalie stopped, a thoughtful silence surrounded her.

"My dream," I said.

"Yes, your dream," she answered quietly.

"So," I cleared my throat softly, "if we ever ..."

"Baby," Rosalie interrupted, "let's face reality here. At the rate we're going, 'ever' is _never_ going to happen. You're willing until the moment is upon you, then you're just so scared and so serious, and I ... I'm just so ... just too ... dangerous."

She said that last bit bitterly.

 _'Bit bitterly,'_ I thought to myself. Funny joke, how my words ran together like that.

Except that it wasn't funny, this moment. It was sad.

"You're just too dangerous, ..." I said, echoing her, but, in my heart, not agreeing at all. Then I added: "Dangerous, ... and scared, Rosalie. You're scared, too."

"Yes," she said.

I sighed, then took a huge breath ... and sighed again.

"D'ya remember I said I'd die if you ... you know ... wouldn't ... you know ..." I gulped. "And now you're not." I blinked rapidly, but, damn it! not rapidly enough to blink away the single tear as it fell. "An..and now you say you never will? D'ya remember that, Rosalie?"

"Yes, Bella, I remember," she said.

"Well, ..." I said. "Here I am, an' ..." I sniffled. I breathed in a ragged breath. "I guess I may as well die now, because you ..."

I couldn't go on.

Rosalie shifted a little on the bed, but I was just as secure in her arms as I ever was. "... Bella, I can't even ... after your dream, I'm surprised you're even letting me touch you, much less you wanting me to fuck you, for God's sake!"

"Can you please not say that word?" I said.

"Yes," she said without hesitation.

"'Yes'?" I said, confused. No fight from her? When she fought me on everything else?

"Yes," she said, just as certainly as she said it the first time.

"Starting now?" I confirmed.

"Yes," she said.

"Thank you," I said humbly.

"You are welcome, Bella." Rosalie paused. "So, ... but why are you letting me hold you now? Why do you want me after your dream revealed to you what I really am?"

"It didn't," I said. _Obviously!_ I thought fiercely. "That was a monster. That wasn't even you at all. It couldn't be. You're not like that. Ever."

Some of the intensity of my feelings on the matter came out in my voice, I noticed.

Rosalie sighed into my hair. "You only know what you see of me; that is: what I show you. It's all a façade, sweetie, a thin veneer covering over what? The real me: the monster inside."

"No monster is holding me now!" I countered angrily.

Rosalie kissed the back of my head softly. "Yes, she is, you just can't see her."

"Or anything at all, even," I answered her bitterly.

"Or anything at all," Rosalie agreed.

We were silent.

"So, ..." I gulped, "what? You're just gonna hold me until I die of a... of a broken heart now, is that it?"

It was so quiet, everything: Rosalie, the night, everything but the turmoil inside me, churning away in my stomach.

"I know death," Rosalie said. "I have killed, ... murdered, seven men, and, now, more than one hundred animals. Every one of them, I've felt their hearts slow and stop. You are in no danger of dying, Bella Swan, and your fragile little heart can bear this and mend itself."

I sobbed, truly despondent.

Rosalie laughed softly, but it wasn't cruel, it was sad. "The only danger to your life is me, but then, the only time you choose to die, paradoxically, seems to be when I leave you."

"So, you're not gonna leave me?" I asked.

"No," she said.

"I didn't die this time," I reminded her.

"You didn't," she agreed, but there was nothing in her. She was just agreeing to anything I said.

"This is just great!" I cried. "Y-you'll just hold me until I fall asleep, won't you! And then when I wake up tomorrow, you can laugh at me and say 'Ha, ha! I told you so!' because you know everything! Even my heart that you say will mend, but it _won't!"_

My chin was quivering and my chest was so tight, trying to hold all my pent-up emotion in.

"Yes," Rosalie agreed listlessly.

I sobbed, heartbroken.

"Or," she said.

My heart just about skipped a beat at her one word.

Rosalie sighed. Then she did something. She pulled her arm out from under me, letting me go, then she slid over the top of me, landing on the bed in front of me.

Rosalie was facing me now. I could feel her breath against my face.

"Or?" I breathed.

Rosalie her hands up to my face, cradling my cheeks. "I can stay here, all night, with you, and watch you sleep, and watch you die inside, even as your little heart continues to beat, as I say it will..."

I waited for her to say what the 'or' was.

"Or?" I prompted.

I could feel Rosalie smile wistfully.

"You win, Bella," Rosalie said regretfully.

I tried to control my breathing, but I couldn't stop my heart from beating so hard in my chest.

"You win," she said.

Rosalie's hand eased to the back of my head, and I felt her lean in.

My little heart was going _thump-thump! thump-thump!_ And I felt my whole body tense up. And it was right there, her lips almost touching mine, that Rosalie chuckled softly.

"And here we are, again!" she sighed angrily.

 _"I'm sorry!"_ I said.

"You want this, you don't want this!" Rosalie groused. "Which is it, Bella?"

"I..."

But I couldn't go on, the lump in my throat was so big, I couldn't even breathe around it, so I just made little gasping and choking sounds.

Rosalie ... I could feel her watching me. She _tsk_ ed angrily, but then I felt her relent. She pulled me into her chest and kissed the top of my head gently.

"It's okay, baby," she said, her voice consoling.

"But it's not!" I wailed bitterly. "I hate this! I _hate this!_ I want you so much, but as soon as you get close, I get all scared and serious! _Why!"_

Rosalie breathed gently, I felt her chest rising and falling against me, and I heard the air moving her her chest, a powerful bellows, so very tightly controlled.

"Because it is scary, and it is serious," Rosalie said. "It's your first time, and nothing is more scary or more serious than that, isn't it so, sweetie? And ... my first time ... well ..."

I felt Rosalie's head turn, just slightly. Her right hand held my head firmly against her chest, but her left hand went up and down my back, a steady, assured rub that gently, but firmly, forced the tenseness out of my body.

"My first time was my only experience, and it was harsh, brutal, ... and fatal." Rosalie rubbed my back more as she thought over what, I don't know. "So, I'm not the ... ha, ha, ha!" She laughed bitterly. "I was about to say 'I'm not the best guide in this,' but that would be an outright lie! I'm actually the _worst_ person you could hope for in this moment."

"But it _is_ you that I hope for!" I whispered into her chest.

"But it is me you hope for," Rosalie admitted, and this admission was a mixture of wonder and regret.

"Don't you get that, Rosalie?" I asked.

"Yes," she said.

"Then, ..." I drew in a ragged breath, "then _do_ something, _now,_ for God's sake, Rosalie Hale."

It was quiet in the cabin for a long moment.

Then she did something.

She pulled me up to her, face to face, tilted my head back, and she kissed me. Hard.

"Bella, ..." Rosalie begin.

"Rosalie, please!" I said.

"Bella," Rosalie said, undeterred. "It's just sex. That's all it is. It's just sex. Do you want that?"

"Yes," I said.

I gulped. I just said _'yes'_ to the 's'-word. My heart was racing as if I had just run for my life for hours and hours.

And I am _not_ a runner-... person.

"Even if it means your death?" Rosalie asked. "You saw this in your dream, what happens when we..."

"Yes," I interrupted her. "I want this. I want you, and I want this. I'd rather die now than just go on and live tomorrow and ... and ... not ..."

I gulped.

"Sh, baby," Rosalie whispered and gently kissed my forehead, "Sh, sh, sh. Okay. Okay."

Rosalie held me and sighed.

Then she kissed me as she held me.

And I kissed her back.

Her hand left my back and came to rest on the top button of my flannel top.

And I tensed right up.

Rosalie broke the kiss and sighed.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" I wailed.

Rosalie was quiet for a moment.

"Bella," she said gravely, "I'm going to ask you to do something that is counter to everything I want you to do. I'm going to ask you to trust me, okay?"

"Okay," I said forlornly.

"... because if you don't trust me, it will be like this right now, and what's the point of that, hm? Please trust me, okay?" she pleaded.

"Okay," I said again.

Rosalie took my face in both her hands. "Do you want this?" she asked.

"Yes," I whispered.

I couldn't see her – I couldn't see anything – but if I could've looked away now, I would have. I was ashamed at myself, wanting this and being scared at the same time, like a stupid, little girl.

"I do, too," she said.

I blinked, surprised. "You do?"

"God, yes!" Rosalie said. "Bella, yes, I do."

"You ... do?" I asked again, incredulously.

I mean, this was Rosalie Hale, and who was I? Nobody, and she ...

Rosalie kissed me, softly, seriously, and all thoughts went out of my head, except for this one: _Rosalie wants this, too!_ I couldn't wrap my head around it.

"I do," she said.

Rosalie shifted so that she was resting on top of me. She broke the kiss again, and I could feel her eyes watching me gravely as she looked down at me, her hair brushed against my cheek, a feather touch.

She leaned in again, kissed me lightly on the lips, then leaned back up.

"Bella," she said, "you have to tell me at any point if I'm hurting you, okay? Or if you want me to stop, hm?"

I bit my lip. "Okay," I said out loud, but inside I thought, _This is really happening!_ And I prayed that I wouldn't embarrass myself by doing something wrong or something stupid. I prayed that it would happen and that it would be good and that maybe she wouldn't kill me and it would be the next morning and we'd be talking like true friends, best friends, and she'd even magically come up with coffee somehow, maybe, even.

That last thought made me smile a very private smile: me and Rosalie, the morning after, chatting over coffee like best, best friends.

I liked that thought.

"I like your smile," Rosalie whispered. And that made me smile so hard that my cheeks started to hurt.

"Me, too," I said smiling, then added quickly. "I mean, I like it when you smile, too. God, Rosalie, you're so beautiful when you're happy."

"Like when does that ever happen?" Rosalie demanded dryly.

I stuck out my tongue as I felt her hands reach to my flannel shirt and begin to unbutton me. "Like ... now? I hope?" I dared.

"Brave girl!" Rosalie cooed, and she kissed me. "Brave, brave girl!"

And I felt a little proud that she thought I was brave, and I felt a little annoyed that she thought I was a girl, and I hoped that maybe that was how people Back East talked, and wasn't meant to be demeaning.

I bit my lip. This moment was so precious, so ... precarious, that I didn't want a sharp reply from me to ruin it. I smiled bravely, for her, but my lips were quivering.

Rosalie kissed my smiling lips. "My brave, brave girl!" she repeated as she pulled off my top, first one arm – I drew in a shocked breath – and then the other.

"Are you ready, sweetheart?" she asked, solicitously.

"Can you please stop just talking and just ... just take me, okay?" I burst out, my nervousness finally got the better of me.

I instantly regretted my outburst.

Rosalie chuckled easily, however. "Yes, my 'just, just' princess, I can."

 _"Excuse m-...mmmmrpph!"_ My outrage was smothered by Rosalie's kiss, and she laughed on my lips as her face pressed itself against mine.

She kissed me hard this time, a hard, demanding kiss, that left no room for my reproaches, and then, when she felt my anger weaken, she kissed me several more times, quick pecks on the lips, then, careful, on each eyelid.

"You are just so damnably cute, Bella Swan!" she exclaimed happily.

 _"Hmmphf!_ Now I'm a cute princess, huh?" I muttered, unforgiving.

"Yes," Rosalie said slyly.

"Well, I ... _aaaaahhhh?"_

Rosalie didn't let me finish my retort. Her hand had come up and had cupped my breast.

"Hm?" Rosalie asked. "What was that, sweetie?"

I didn't get to answer that, either, because she pressed her lips to mine again, firmly, silencing any protest I may have had.

If I had any. Her hand on my breast set my whole body aflame, and it was taut with the need of feeling her touch, and her lips pressed to mine made my mind go completely blank.

I was in Rosalie's thrall. Her princess comments be damned! _She_ was the princess, and I was her handmaid – no, her _slave!_ – and I was damned happy with that arrangement...

... as long as she kept doing to me what she was doing.

Rosalie kissed me again. "Did you say something?" she asked coquettishly.

"Please," I whispered.

"Hmmmm," she hummed, pleased. "I _like_ that. _So_ damn cute, everything about you!"

I liked that, too.

"And I want to see, to touch, _all_ of you, sweetie," she purred. There was a wanting, dangerous possessive edge to her voice that frightened me a little bit, even as it excited me. Rosalie shifted off of me, resting by my side. Her hand left my breast and started a slow, languorous trip ... South.

But then, I drew in a sharp breath. Rosalie's hand stopped.

"Sorry," I bit off quickly. My tongue touched my upper lip. "It's just that ... I'm just a little bit ticklish..."

I felt heat on my cheeks.

"Oh?" Rosalie asked, the surprise in her voice mocking. "Really? I hadn't noticed!"

I bit my lip hard now, embarrassed.

But Rosalie had more practical concerns. "Sweetie, can you lift up your hips? I want to slide these off." She tugged gently at the waistband of my pajama bottoms.

"Uh, ..." I said. I tried.

"Sorry," I whispered, ashamed again. My hips were dead things to me. I could feel them, but I couldn't move them. "I ..."

Rosalie kissed me lightly; there was understanding in her kiss. "Sh, sh, I know, sweetie, I was just asking if you could. No blame, okay?"

I swallowed. "Okay."

Here I was, inexperienced, doing everything wrong, _and_ paralyzed, too. _No blame,_ she said, but I felt terrible for not getting it right.

"Sh, sh," Rosalie repeated and kissed me again.

As easy as you please, she snaked her left hand under my hips, and, – ... _ooh!_ – under the waistband of my pjs, and with her right hand she tugged both my panties and my pjs down to my thighs.

I gasped at the suddenness of it.

"Okay?" she checked.

"Okay," I gasped. "Just don't stop, okay? Just don't stop!"

"Eheh," Rosalie chuckled lightly, a wicked touch to it that warmed my insides, then she added: "O dear, o dear, o dear!" she _tsk_ ed, very pleased. "I do believe I won't!"

"You'd better nnnnn _awwwwtttt-..ooh!"_ I gasped.

For, you see, Rosalie had taken me by the shoulder and rotated me into her. Rosalie brought my hand and guided it up over her shoulder so that it rested on the back of her neck.

"Trust me?" she asked.

"Yes," I bit off.

"Good girl!" she cooed. "So brave, and so beautiful, you know? You are so brave and beautiful, Bella!"

I drew in a ragged breath and a tear started to form in my eye. Rosalie kissed it away, then she tilted my head back, nudging me with her chin and her nose, and kissed me fully, but gently on the lips. I gasped into her mouth, because she had reached down and gripped my thigh in her hand and was easing my leg over hers.

 _"Mmmmmmmm!"_ she hummed into my mouth. "You taste so God-damn sweet, Bella! You are driving me absolutely wild with desire!"

"Y-you," I breathed out, "you sure sound like y-you can ..." I swallowed, trying to say it right, "...that you can handle it, th-though..."

She sounded completely in control, of me, of herself, of everything. It was both scary, the absolute power she had, and ... well, reassuring. She said to trust her, and, well, her being on top of everything, including herself, made trusting her ... easy.

"And you can't?" she asked, amused.

"Please, Rosalie," I whimpered, "I am on fire!"

I didn't know what I could handle or what! I hope I said something that made sense, but what I said was true: my body was burning up, everywhere where our bodies touched was painful in a way that I can't describe, and everywhere where our bodies didn't hurt much worse with the lack of her touch.

Rosalie brought her hand to my back and rubbed it firmly and gently.

"Yes, you are, sweetie," she said, "you are so God-damn hot it's burning me up, too!"

She kissed me again, and I felt a little bit of that fire in the passion of her kiss, and I moaned into her mouth, and her, feeling me weaken and surrender to her kiss, hummed into mine.

I just about lost my mind at her pleased, possessive hum. She _owned_ me, and it drove me crazy with wanting her to own me completely. I was _hers,_ and that only made me want to be _hers ... more!_

I think I forgot to breathe, for when Rosalie broke the kiss, I was gasping like a drowning girl. Rosalie brought her hand up to my cheek.

"I'm going to take you now, Bella," she whispered.

My heart went into overdrive, wanting this, scared of what this meant: her taking me.

Wanting this.

"Hm?" she demanded.

 _"Urk,"_ was about the most intelligent thing that came out of my mouth in reply. My throat worked by nothing else came.

Rosalie kissed me again, softly.

"Open your mouth, honey," Rosalie said, then: "Trust me."

Obediently, scared, just a little, I opened my mouth.

Rosalie put one finger, her index finger, and then her middle finger, into my mouth.

"Uhn?" I breathed around her fingers.

Rosalie, cradling my head in her left hand, kissed me on my forehead.

"Suck, sweetie, hm? Suck my fingers," she ordered.

I closed my mouth around two rose popsicles, but so, so different than that. They were cold, yes, but they were perfectly smooth, they didn't stick to my tongue, and ... 'sweet'? Popsicles were sweet and fruity: cherry-flavored, but Rosalie's fingers...?

I sucked, and if I died, right now, I would have died content. Rosalie's fingers were lightness and air and contentment, and solid as marble. My words, so, so poor at describing how amazingly soothing sucking on Rosalie's fingers were.

"Oh," Rosalie sighed, "My good, good girl! My baby! My sweet baby girl!"

As I sucked contently, I felt the passion in Rosalie rise: her chest heaved against mine, labored breaths as she panted, and this made me ... serene? I was so happy pleasuring Rosalie in this very simple act.

I did not know it could be like this. It didn't feel like ... 'sex.'

It felt like we were making love. It felt like love-making.

A tear welled up and slid across my nose. Rosalie captured it at the bridge with her lips.

 _"Ah!"_ she sighed, and, _"Oh, God!"_ she groaned.

I sniffled, but softly, trying not to break her mood, but she noticed, and chuckled lightly at silly me.

"My sweet, sweet girl!" she sighed, and pulled her fingers from my mouth.

I whined piteously at the withdrawal. _So unfair!_ I thought, but she quickly traced my lips with her thumb, then pushed that in.

This was different, shorter, broader than her dainty fingers, and I expected a different taste to her thumb, but no? yes? I couldn't tell if there were a subtle difference or if it were all in my mind.

I didn't get to taste the nuance, because her thumb quickly withdrew, almost as fast as it went it, as if she were only offering a taste. As if she were only teasing me with her thumb.

I wanted to be angry with this, but that thought evaporated when she scooted down just a hair and replaced her digits with her mouth. Her lips pressed to mine and her tongue traced my lips.

I moaned into her mouth, opening to her, sucking, seeking her tongue

 _"Hm, hm!"_ she laughed into me as her tongue accepted and probed into my mouth.

 _Bliss!_ coursed through me as I tasted Rosalie, not subtle anymore, like her fingers were, but the powerful taste of Rosalie Hale coursing into my mouth as I sucked at her tongue and then sliding down my throat and into my belly where a little fire, already started, exploded into a full-on flame of pure ... okay, ... lust.

I lusted after her. God, it hurt how much I wanted her, ... needed her.

As her tongue graced my mouth, and God damn her for knowing how badly I needed this! her fingertips traced their way down my side. I squealed into her mouth and squirmed as her ticklish fingertips drove me beyond distraction, and she laughed again, a proud, possessive laugh, as her hand continued and then reached its destination ... Down There.

I drew in a sharp breath as Rosalie's hand cupped my mons.

 _"Hmmmmm!"_ Rosalie hummed into my mouth, then she withdrew from the kiss. She rubbed me delicately there until her middle finger was resting, nestled between my lips.

I bit my lips and whimpered.

 _"Mm,_ Bella," Rosalie purred, "you are so God-damn wet down there."

I blushed, ashamed.

"Nono!" Rosalie said quickly, then kissed me, hard and quick. "It ..." She kissed me again. "I like this," she reassured me. "It means you're ready, baby." She rubbed me gently down there, light strokes between my legs, and I whimpered again, so aroused that I didn't know what to do with myself. "Are you ready, sweetie?" she asked.

 _"Nnn!"_ I whined, not knowing what she was asking, because, really, I don't think I even knew my name anymore!

"Oh, my baby!" Rosalie sang, and she kissed me. "Oh, my baby!"

She kissed me again.

"Sweetie," she said seriously, "you're going to come to a point, okay, when it feels like you're falling, okay? But I've got you the whole time, okay? When you feel this, just let go and trust me, okay? Trust me, Bella. I've got you; I'll hold you the whole time, okay?"

"Please!" I whimpered. "Please! Please! Please! Please! Please! Please!"

"Yes, sweetie, okay," she said through my whined _'pleases!'_ and then she kissed me, pressing me to her, hard, and she began rubbing me more powerfully, less gently, down there.

I was squealing into her mouth as she hummed into mine.

And I felt her hips shift a little bit.

And I felt her hold me to her a little bit more tightly.

And I felt my body opening up, inside, to her, just a little bit more.

And I felt her hand rubbing me, rhythmically, a little bit faster, a little bit harder.

And then...

And then...

And then her wet little thumb rubbed a certain spot above my slit, and it seemed like my whole being focused on where her thumb was rubbing, and then everything just exploded from that point, from a very concentrated point in the center of my being to radiate out like a wild-fire exploding outward, consuming my whole body.

And I felt ...

And I felt it ...

I felt it inside me, a letting go, and then I felt as if I had suddenly stumbled over the edge of a cliff and I was falling, and I was screaming into Rosalie's mouth, and I was falling, and my whole body tensed up so tightly I felt my muscles trying to snap free of my bones!

And that's when it hit me hard, a tremendous rushing, and then my whole body just relaxed as I seemed to be carried away. I screamed _'aaahhhh'_ into Rosalie's mouth as she held me through it all.

And then I peed.

All over the place, like a fountain, no: like a geyser, just exploding everywhere!

God damn it!

 _Boom._ It felt like the end of the world inside me.

Then...

Then...

Then... nothing.

It was just me and her, her hand on the back of my head relaxed, letting me fall back onto the bed, the back of my head resting in her hand, me gasping for breath, desperately sucking in air like I had just been cut from the hangman's noose at the last second of life.

I lay there panting, exhausted, my whole body jelly: totally relaxed, but also totally spent.

"Oh, my sweet Bella!" Rosalie exclaimed, so happy. "That was ... wow! That was a big one, wasn't it, baby!"

She leaned over me, her hair brushing my face as she kissed me lightly on the cheek.

I panted, gasping, totally overcome.

"Oh, my baby!" Rosalie said, kissing me again. "Oh, sweetie, that's it. Rest now. You're okay. You're okay now, sweetie!"

She said it ... like ...

She said it like she was almost proud of me, but ...

Her hand ... you know, the hand that was Down There ... had pulled itself away and was now drenched with my pee, rested on my hip bone.

God! I was so ashamed! I wanted to turn away from her, but I couldn't.

 _Peeing on Rosalie Hale as she ..._

I couldn't finish the thought.

I felt concern coming from Rosalie. "Baby, you're okay?" she checked.

"I ..." I gasped, and purposefully slowed my breathing. "I'm sorry," I whispered.

Rosalie was quiet for a moment. "You're ... 'sorry'?" I felt her blink in surprise. "For what?"

"Rosalie," I said, bitter now that she was making me spell it out. "I ... I peed all over you! I ... I just couldn't ..." I gulped. "I'm sorry."

"You ..." Rosalie was quiet again. "Baby," she said gently, "there is _nothing_ to be sorry about! You didn't pee all over me, okay?"

"Excuse me," I said, miffed that she was telling me about what I did, "I know when I pee, okay? And I did ... and I'm sorry, okay?"

I wanted to turn my head away, but my chin only moved less than an eighth of an inch.

Yay. Progress.

"Won't happen again," I said bitterly, and added to myself: _'Because you'll never want to ... touch me again after this, that's for sure!'_ The bitterness in my voice didn't match even half the bitterness of my thoughts.

"Baby," Rosalie said gently, "may I say something?"

I sighed.

She took that as a 'yes.'

Rosalie moved her dirty hand, and touched me ... there. I gasped. "Your pee comes from here: your urethra." Her index finger pointed into me, lightly. "But when you orgasmed, you ejaculated, copiously, yes, from here." Her finger traced downward and pointed into me, lower.

 _"Nnn!"_ I whined, shocked, still very sensitive there.

"'Nnn,' indeed!" Rosalie replied lightly.

She removed her hand and rested it again on my hip.

"You didn't pee," she asserted.

"I ..." My eyebrows clouded, trying to absorb what she said, "I didn't?"

"Trust me on this one," she said, and kissed me lightly on the cheek.

I blinked. "I have to trust you on everything from now on, don't I?" I asked softly.

Rosalie breathed beside me. "No," she said, sadness creeping into her voice.

God! Ouch! What had I just done? I just asked her a question, is all! But I knew it wasn't just a question: I was asking _something_ from her 'from now on,' and that meant forever to her. And that was too much to ask.

"But I want to," I said.

"I know," she said sadly.

"Rosalie," I said quickly.

But then I stopped.

Why did she have to be sad now, when she had done this for me so selflessly, all of this, and all I wanted was for her to be happy?

And for her to hold me.

That's all I wanted!

Why did she have to be sad?

"I love you," I whispered sadly, and two tears slid out of my eyes.

"Ah, ah!" Rosalie said quickly, kissing a tear away as it slid down my cheek, "none of that now, sweetie!" Her voice was all bossy and business-like, and she was back in command, but I wondered if 'none of that' meant my crying or me telling her I love her.

Rosalie picked me up from the bed, pulling off the soiled sheet with us as she carried me to the center of the cabin with the chamber pot. I heard her ball up sheet and toss it, and I heard the wet _thump_ of it as it hit the floor somewhere far from us.

"You need to pee, for real now," Rosalie said, "then drink up to rehydrate, then you need to rest and recover, young lady! You've had a very, _very_ long day, and I can't believe I let you talk me into all this in the first place!"

Rosalie sounded scold-y, but I was scared that she was scolding herself, too, for, ... you know ... me ... and that ... the 's'-word-thing.

"Rosalie," I said, "thank you for 'all that.'"

"Hm, yes," she said.

"No, I really, really mean it! Thank you. I ..." I gulped. "It was special." I said, trying to reach through to her.

"Pee now, Bella," Rosalie commanded firmly.

"Was it special for you?" I whispered, not letting it go.

Two more tears fell.

Rosalie was quiet, holding me.

"Yes, baby, it was very, very special for me," Rosalie admitted softly, whispering this sweetest nothing, this sweetest everything, into my ear.

And that's when I started bawling. I was crying hard. Her words hit me so hard, a sucker-punch to the gut, that I couldn't keep it in anymore. I was so scared this meant nothing to her, or worse, that this was all just a big mistake that she would never forgive herself for and never want to do with me again, or never even go near me again, that the pressure built up and up and her words just were such a huge relief I thought I might actually die from the sudden release.

"That's good!" I screamed through my tears, "'cause, 'cause it's ... 'cause I'm g-glad it was special for you, too, 'cause ... 'cause ... 'cause ..." and I wailed.

"Oh, baby!" Rosalie exclaimed, and she dropped my legs – my toes just barely scraped the floor – and she hugged me into her. "Oh, baby!" she cried. "Of course it was special to me! It was very special for me, don't you know that? Couldn't you tell?"

I cried so hard into her shoulder, because, no: I couldn't tell, and that just about killed me.

And then I peed.

Down her leg.

Joy.

And I thought I was crying hard before.

"Oh, my baby!" Rosalie consoled me. "It's okay. Just let it out. Just let it all out."

I, literally, let it all out.

I hope she didn't mind.

She didn't seem to.

...

Bed. Well, first, clean up the pee, clean up the me. Get me dressed. Blow the nose. Drink water. New sheet. Rosalie did all of this as she held me to her side.

So much for me 'helping.' Maybe if she had a gun handy, she could give it to me so I could shoot myself in the head when I got my hands working again. That would help. Save her a lot of trouble.

Where were we? Yeah: bed.

Rosalie laid me down gently into the bed then snuggled up behind me.

"I didn't die," I said listlessly.

"You didn't die," she agreed.

"You didn't kill me," I pointed out.

"I didn't kill you," Rosalie agreed again.

It was quiet.

"A good day," Rosalie remarked, emotionlessly.

"Ha!" I laughed sadly.

Rosalie kissed me on the top of the head.

"A very good day," she added and sighed softly into my hair.

We were quiet.

"Did you see this comin'?" I asked softly into the darkness.

Rosalie pondered this. "I believe the term is 'never in a million years!'" She mimicked the whiny, shocked, scared, terrified little voice of mine when I said that to her, three million years ago tonight when she told me I had to take off my clothes and sleep naked if I were to sleep with her.

Or was that last night? ... or the night before?

The days and nights kind of blurred together, what with me dying and all. So hard to keep track of!

But she said she didn't see this coming!

Rosalie was, really, a big dummy if she didn't see this coming!

"Oh," I remarked. That's all I could think to say.

"Did you?" Rosalie asked back.

"Never in a million years," I said.

Rosalie held me tightly. "Ah," she remarked softly.

Somehow, her 'ah' sounded so much more thoughtful than my stupid 'oh' did.

"Do you ... regret it?" Rosalie asked cautiously.

"Rosalie! No! No!" I shouted. "Never! I ... it was ... it was special. It was better than I could have ever imagined! It was ... it was special." I finished weakly. "Thank you," I whispered.

"Sh, sh, sh," Rosalie whispered, then kissed me again, lightly, on the top of my head.

"Did you ...?"

"Yes."

Rosalie's answer to my half-formed question was quick and sure. Nothing like my answer. Nothing like my question back to her.

She was so entirely opposite to me that it hurt. She was so perfectly ... perfect. Gracious. Beautiful. Strong. Caring. Kind. She was everything I could never dream to coming even close to.

She wasn't a evil vampire, as she claimed. No, she was an angel, a God-sent angel.

Rosalie sighed again, reading my mind, I'm sure, and finding fault all over the place with my logic.

I was too tired to care, however. She was right again: I need to rest.

Rosalie held me in her arms. "Now the struggle," she murmured.

"'The struggle'?" I asked lazily. She had no sign of struggle or conflict in her voice.

"Yes," she said. "Every night, my right hand holds your shoulder." She squeezed my left shoulder gently, resting her her hand on the bed. "And I tell myself, 'No, Rosalie, her slip is fine where it is. Leave your hand here. You don't need to inch your hand down at all."

I gasped, wakened suddenly, for her hand began to creep down, just an inch, but it eased itself very gently, and very naturally, shifting toward my breast.

Her hand, however, didn't proceed further, instead it obeyed the command of her iron will and returned to my shoulder, gripping it firmly.

"And my left hand," Rosalie continued, unabated. "My bad, bad, left hand!" she scolded herself, her left hand atop my hip, her left arm encircling my waist. "It doesn't need to adjust your leggings, no! It doesn't need to move your panties, not at all! They are fine where they are, you bad left hand!"

Her hand ... the fingers on her left hand touched then traced the waistband of my pj bottoms. I thought I was sleepy. Ha! What a joke!

My heart was thudding away in my chest, and my breath came in short, sharp, little gasps.

"And all night I tell myself this," she said, "that I don't need to do this, that maybe this time you'll just sleep through the night, and maybe I can just keep my God-damned hands to my God-damned self!"

"On me," I added, correcting her.

"Yes," she said, her voice strained.

"And do you?" I asked. "Do you keep your hands to yourself?"

"Yes," she said, but it sounded like a guilty admission.

"Because I attack you anyway, right?" I demanded. "Every night, so you don't have to ... do that. I do." I said, ashamed.

"Bella," Rosalie said, "no. This is all on me, okay?"

"What I do when I sleep is on ... you?" I demanded.

"Yes," she said, "I could ..."

"You could what?" I demanded now, more angrily.

Rosalie didn't say anything.

"You're caught in a trap, Rosalie Hale," I said, and thought: _a trap of your own design._

Rosalie refused to answer, but I guess I didn't ask her a question.

"And now ... tonight?" I said, and added: "what's left of it, that is."

"Worse," she said.

"Worse?" I asked.

"Bella," she sighed, "now that I've had you thus, I want you so much more. God, do I want you so much more!"

 _Good!_ I thought, and that thought coursed through my whole body with a vindictive glee.

If she wants me so much more now, by golly, ... the thought of her wanting me like this, now that I've experienced this, and knowing what it is, and knowong that she wants this as much as me, if that were possible, made my little heart speed up in anticipation that maybe we might be able to do this... soon.

"Then ..." I said. "Well, why don't you?"

"Because I do what I ought, not what I want," Rosalie said tiredly.

"Uh ... huh," I answered this as neutrally as I could.

My whole being was crying out: _BULLSHIT!_ however.

Rosalie doing what she 'ought,' ... like any good ever came out of that!

I mulled over our night, trying to figure out how to get past her 'ought'-ness.

An idea suddenly came to me.

"Rosalie," I said, "you called me 'princess,' ... _again!"_ I growled. I took a calming breath. "Why?"

"Eheh," Rosalie laughed softly. "Because you, my dear, _always_ get your way," and she _boop_ ed me on the nose. Just like that.

 _"Ha!"_ I barked, surprised. _"I_ always get _my_ way? _Excuse me?"_

"Excuse you?" Rosalie echoed sarcastically.

"Look," I said, "I'm not the drop-dead beauty here with magical powers that can turn a tree into matchsticks, Miss Oh-you-get-everything-you-want! It's more like _you_ get whatever _you_ want whenever you want it, and don't tell me you didn't want this, neither, because you said you did and so there!"

I huffed, angrily. Her saying I got whatever I wanted when it was plain-as-day that whatever _she_ says goes, no ifs, and, nor buts about it!

"Yes, it's true ..." Rosalie started cautiously.

 _"Seeeeee?"_ I said, my insistent voice overriding hers.

"... that I can get whatever I want, whenever I want it ..."

 _"SEEEEEEEE?"_ I yelled.

"...but to what end is all this might I have?" she asked.

"Huh?" I said.

Maybe if she said her words in plain English for plain people, like me, I'd understand.

"Everything I can do gives me no pleasure," Rosalie mused.

"Excuse me?" I said. She seemed to get a lot of pleasure just now.

"... Because I can do anything, and it costs me nothing. I want something; I can have it. Where is the pleasure in that?"

"So you got no pleasure out of tonight?" I asked in a small voice.

"Not that, silly!" she said warmly, almost playfully, and _boop_ ed me on the nose, ... again.

I don't know about this nose- _boop_ ing thing.

"Not that!" I said hotly, blushing. "I mean," I added, "maybe that, too, but ... saving my life. You got no ... _'pleasure'"_ I emphasized the word, "out of that?"

Rosalie was quiet.

"So, you can do whatever you want," I said, "and that's bad, why?"

"Because ..." Rosalie began to explain.

 _"I'm not done yet! Lemme finish!"_ I shouted.

I did _not_ need a lecture from her now.

I took a couple of calming breaths; I had gotten hot under the collar somehow.

"I mean," I said slowly, "what woman in the world wouldn't want what you have?"

"Me," Rosalie said.

"Still not done yet!" I glowered.

I fumed.

Rosalie waited.

"Well?" she said.

I hissed at her. _"Pfft!_ Excuse me, Miss Beautiful with scary powers that you can get anything you want with, but for plain, old me who got picked on and laughed behind my back because I could ride a horse better'm I could bat my eyelashes at the boys or wear a pretty dress, I sure as shootin' would've loved to have anything I want whenever I wanted just so's people would _leave me alone!"_

"No, you wouldn't," Rosalie replied sadly after she waited a moment for me to finish.

I was still seething.

 _"And you!"_ I snarled. "You waste it all on your high-handedness. _'Oh, I won't do this and I won't do that!'_ Always making your life miserable and making sure everybody else's is, too!"

After a moment, Rosalie asked softly: "Why all this sudden anger, Bella?"

I gulped. "Because ... this," I said. "The o-one time y-you let your guard down and you're _happy,_ Rosalie, you're truly _happy!_ and we have this moment together, this special moment, and ... g-guess what? It made me so happy, too, and now you say you 'struggle' every night ... for how long now, when... when I would've been _happy_ t-to..."

I swallowed. "When," I whispered, "this is what I wanted, too? But you say you won't do this, because it's what you want and you say it's bad, just because you want it? Well, guess what, Rosalie Hale? I want it, too, and b-by denying yourself me, y-you have made me so, so sad right now, I swear! _So_ sad!"

"Bella," Rosalie said carefully.

I grimaced. It didn't sound like an apology was coming.

"I want you _so much,"_ she continued, "all the time, but if I ..."

She paused, mulling over her words, and continued more slowly, "... but if I give in to what I want, you will be _dead,_ Bella. And that will be it. Don't you realize this?"

Her voice had an air of finality to it.

"No," I sighed, "and I'm not buying it, Rosalie Hale!" I muttered angrily.

"I don't care if you're buying 'it,' or not," Rosalie retorted, "as I'm not selling anything. I'm just stating what is."

 _Why did this have to get so serious?_ I thought sadly. Maybe because it was Rosalie Hale, I thought to myself bitterly. ... or maybe because it was us, and it would always be serious.

I hated that thought.

"No, Rosalie Hale," I said, "I wasn't finished, and what did I tell you about interrupting me?"

Rosalie was silent. I could feel her visibly holding her tongue.

But she was letting me have my say, ... and that was something, I have to admit.

"You are tryin' to sell me a bill of goods," I said. "But I'm not buying them. You're trying to say, 'oh, I'll kill you,' but I know exactly what that means! ... and you do, too! It means, oh! you just opened up to me just now, just a little bit, and you're _scared_ of what that may possibly mean for you and your cold, dead heart! Well, guess what? I'm scared, too, but I'm a little bit angry that you just get to go back to the way things were with you all nice and safe in your horrible little life of self-loathing and you get to _hurt me_ when you do by giving me this moment, _which I loved, by the way,_ but then taking it right back! You can't keep doing this, Rosalie Hale! Particularly not you, Miss Taking Responsibility for herself! Take responsibility for this moment, for how you really feel, for a change, and quit this ..."

I broke off, swallowing hard.

"I _am_ taking responsibility for myself, Bella," Rosalie said, her voice tight. "I _have_ to. I don't have the liberty to ..."

"You know what I really, really, _really_ need right now?" I sniffled, interrupting her tirade.

Rosalie stopped, and that gave me the courage to press forward. "What I really need right now is for you to hold me," I said.

"But I am holding you, Bella," Rosalie complained.

"No!" I said, "I need you to _hold_ me, Rosalie. I don't need you to talk, or to tell me how you're taking responsibility, because you're the responsible one here, okay? I get that, okay? But I don't need that now. I don't want that now. I just need you to hold me ... and... and to love me, is all."

Rosalie drew in her breath sharply.

"Bella, ..." Rosalie said.

"No," I said, " _NO!_ Just hold me and love me, or try to pretend that you do! Can you do that?"

Rosalie held me in silence, then she whispered. "No, Bella, I can't pretend that. That's ... that's not right."

"But you said all you were is pretense!" I complained bitterly. "Why can't you pretend just this one, little thing, please?"

"Because I can't hurt you like that, Bella," Rosalie said sadly.

"T-too late, Rosalie Hale," I sobbed.

Rosalie said nothing.

I cried. I cried as Rosalie held me, and tiredness caught up to me, everything that happened today, and the emotional impact of it just _wearied_ me to my bones! As I was falling off to sleep, I thought: the one time. The _one time_ I needed her to lie to me, to tell me she loved me, just ... just for me, just this once, and she couldn't bring herself to do it, because of her God-damned principles or something.

Rosalie Hale was the worst.

Rosalie, sadly: "It's been a long day, baby."

I screamed. I screamed my head off, I was crying so hard.

If I were a 'princess,' why didn't she say, 'I love you,' instead of that? Why couldn't I make her with some royal command or an imperious look?

Unless, of course, I weren't a princess, in which case I knew what that made me, really: scum, just nothing, a nobody. A girl who had hopes for ... something, I don't know, anything, and had to watch them all get crushed.

"It's been a really, really long day, sweetie," Rosalie said tiredly, resignation weighing down her voice. "Get some rest, okay?"

I took a shuddering breath, and I slept.

* * *

 **A/N:** cough-cough. Excuse me a moment.

 _(geophf goes into a closet, bloodcurdling screams are heard within. geophf returns)_

I tried. I really tried for a happy ending to this happy little chapter, but no: Rosalie had to be all _Rosalie,_ and Bella couldn't let it go, her heart all broken to bits now.

I just want to shake them, probably half as much as you are screaming right now and wanting to shake me.

Joy.

The good news is ...? It gets worse from here.

 **ps**... on a personal note from this author: So, a funny thing happened on my jog yesterday morning (2016-07-11), I had a heart attack and am now writing in the hospital waiting on an angiogram/stent and possible surgery. I'm actually 'the lucky one' of both sides of my family: most my uncles did not live past their heart attacks and strokes. So, so much left to write here, but ... well, enjoy reading each chapter, and treat each one as the last one going forward.


	11. That Went Well

**Chapter Summary:** Have you ever been scared to face the morning? Now that we've done ... it, we can't go back, can we? I mean, Rosalie can't ... she just can't ... she won't ... I mean, ... what if she regrets ... it? Doing it with ... me? Oh, God, I'm so scared.

* * *

I woke.

I don't know if I wanted to. I don't know if I can face today, nor face what happen last night.

I swallowed around the cotton stuffed down my throat, or so it felt.

My head felt like it wanted to burn itself from the inside out, except for the very important fact that it was cradled in the crook of Rosalie's arm. A her arm cradling me into her, my forehead resting against her bosom.

That's how I knew last night was real.

I think.

I tried swallowing again, and I tasted the bitter stink of my breath.

Ugh, I felt like hell! I felt sweaty and stinking, and I probably looked way worse. I could feel my hair: matted and damp. The worst combination to have waking up.

Rosalie ignored this, kissing the crown of my head hard.

That hurt, but I gritted my teeth and bore it as best I could.

Somehow, this moment was important to her, too, and maybe I could wake up and be pleasant to _Her_ – She, who was my captor, then my 'sister,' and now my lover ...

 _God!_ My ... lover? Did it really happen? Did I dream this? It felt so real, but maybe because I wanted it so badly I just made it all up in my head? But how could I? I was a ... that is ... I mean ... I ... you know ... don't have any experience in ... _that_ world, so how could I know any of ... well, _that?_

"Sh, sh, sh, sweetie," Rosalie whispered, seeming to read my mind. She shifted, still keeping me cradled in the crook of her arm but she reached behind herself and felt over the side of the bed on the floor. She shifted back to me and put a mug to my lips.

"Water," she explained as she tilted my head back, letting the water from the mug flow into my mouth. I gulped down it thirstily, gulp after gulp after gulp, not even draining half the mug, because, well, I've been much reduced by all these adventures, but I took in as much as my tiny tummy could manage ... which was about half the mug.

It did clear my throat, however, so I could swallow again without feeling like I was in agony.

I swallowed.

"Rosalie," I whispered, "did ... last night ... really happen?"

Rosalie reached behind her, putting the cup back down on the floor and then cradled me again into her chest.

"Hm," she said slowly. I felt the gears turning in her head. Then she made a decision. "Before we get into _that_ conversation, ... did you notice something?"

"Um..." I said, my voice muffled into her chest.

I hate these questions. What was I supposed to notice?

"Um, ..." I stalled, digging around in my mind for what I was supposed to notice.

"Well," I said finally, "I can't really notice anything, because I can't really ... see?"

 _Lame!_ I thought to myself angrily, but it was true ... right?

This being true didn't please Rosalie, at all. "So what do you notice that you can't see, Bella?" she demanded.

"Well, ..." I said.

"It's important," she added.

Oh, boy. Nothing like putting me on the spot, then saying if I got this wrong, I was screwing up everything, now was there!

Way to take the pressure off, Rosalie Hale.

"Um," I capitulated. "I don't know."

"Thought so," Rosalie said, disappointed.

I bit my lip. I asked in a small voice, "Um, will you tell me what, um, I should have noticed? ... that's important?"

"Yes," Rosalie said, all superior.

 _God!_ I wanted to smack her now, making me feel so small, but instead I waited.

"You asked me to be with you here, in bed, and where I am?" she said.

"Here," I whispered.

"And where was I yesterday morning, when you revived from yet another near brush with death? ... that _I_ saved you from!" she demanded.

So now she says she saved me, when yesterday she said she didn't.

I buried that bitter recrimination hard and fast before it bubbled to the surface, and answered her question with as much gratitude as I could muster. "You were holding me," I said.

"Mm ... hm," she said. "You asked me to do this, and I've been doing this. And did you acknowledge it at all?"

"No," I said, contrite.

But inside I was just dying.

"Did you even notice, Bella," Rosalie demanded angrily, then continued with equal rancor: "or did you jump right to your own petty concerns, hm?"

Now I'm petty. Okay.

"Rosalie, ..." I said, and a gasped, swallowing hard. "I'm sorry. I ..."

"And now you're sorry!" she said bitterly.

"Yes," I whispered, broken.

The whole time, Rosalie held me. Now, ... she held me, tightly, into her. She was breathing gentle, even, measured breaths.

Controlling her fury.

"I..." I gulped. "I'm sorry. I know that's not good enough... but I don't know what is. What do you want me to ... say?"

Rosalie took her time answering, and when she finally did, rage was boiling right beneath the surface of her words. "Everything I do now is for _you!_ I can do _anything_ I want, but what do I do for myself? Huh? What? _NOTHING!_ I keep my word, at no small cost to me, and do you even notice? No! And you want to know if last night was _real?"_

She seethed.

"Rosalie," I said. "I'm s-..."

Rosalie crushed me into her chest. Not literally, but she cut off my apology mid-breath.

"Don't, Bella," she said quietly. "Just don't."

She held me like that for a full minute.

Then, just like that, she unwrapped herself from around me, sat up suddenly and was in motion.

"Where are you going?" I asked in a small voice, for I heard her getting dressed.

"Out!" she bit off. "I have to kill something. Just be grateful it isn't you!"

The door slammed as she left.

"Thank you," I whispered sadly.

Then the tears came ... after all, I did need something to keep me company while she was gone.

Didn't I.

* * *

 **A/N:** Whoo, boy!

Question, ... besides the obvious one of: 'what the hell just happened?'

The question is: what was Rosalie thinking?

I sometimes get requests for insights into Rosalie's mind ... or at least her thoughts, which is a very different, but still dangerous place to be, so I wrote _Rose by a Lemon Tree_ to answer that. And still you wonder about Rosalie Lillian Hale.

Let's do a deep dive, right now. Be Rosalie. What are you thinking, and why?

If you're thinking: 'Well, Rosalie's a right bitch this morning!' Then you don't get a pass. You are not being her: you are being you, and what you demand from the morning after.

It is the morning after: why is Rosalie being such a bitch?

Because she's helping.

Hear me out.

What did Bella do, last night? She pushed, didn't she. She got that special moment, but then, she wasn't satisfied. Rosalie said, "It's just sex," but Bella wanted more than that. Bella wanted, and pushed for, love.

Now, this morning. Bella launched right into: "Was that real last night?"

If Bella were to lead that conversation – Rosalie is no dummy: she knows exactly where that conversation would end up.

In very dangerous territory. ... for Rosalie, that is, yes?

Excuse me, Bella! Don't you recall you asking for me to be with you in the morning, no matter what, and here I am, wanting to be a million miles away, but where am I now? And where's my 'thank you'?

Rosalie is all about the 'thank you.'

Rosalie is furious. She can do anything she wants, but she's babysitting a weak, little human, instead. And for how long now? And Bella's starting to take Rosalie's favors as _rights?_ Not only that, but Bella, in effect, is saying, "You just can't provide me with food and shelter and heat: you have to feed my soul, you have to cover my hurts with you, you have to warm my heart."

Why? Because live in a soulless, hurtful, loveless place.

Some of you do, don't you.

That's not living, right? That's hanging on. Barely, or not, but where is the reason to go on? Where is the hope?

The love?

These are Bella's demands.

Okay, got it.

But what are Rosalie's demands? Has she enumerated them to Bella? Has she spelled them out?

Is Bella playing by Rosalie's rules?

No. Of course not.

Rosalie wants things to stay as they are, and they aren't doing that. In fact, by capitulating to Bella's desperation, whole new vistas are opening up, and at a stupendous rate, at that.

So, Rosalie has to pull a hard six, as we say in flight school, and set this little girl down. Bella has been waited on hand and foot and instead of showing the proper deference and gratitude, she's approaching this all the wrong way!

Which way?

Like an equal.

Uh, oh.

Rosalie has to teach Bella her place. Not in so many words, but a good lady of good breeding shows politeness and gratitude, and how can Bella move onto greater things if she is petty in the small things?

Rosalie is trying to help Bella to grow.

 _What?_ you scream. Again, look through Rosalie's eyes.

So, that's Rosalie's defense of her behavior: she's giving Bella a (literal) wake up call.

Bella should thank Rosalie for this.

Now.

Not Bella. Not Rosalie. And ... not you, dear reader, and your sense of rightness.

Rosalie is screwing up big-time here, isn't she?

But how?

Bella is being selfish? Yes.

How is Rosalie handling it?

"Not very well" is the faintest way to condemn her behavior, but what mask is Rosalie wearing, and why is she wearing a mask?

There's a big, ugly elephant in the room that Rosalie is not acknowledging, and how to you ignore this beast (which is what, precisely)?

You attack. You attack the obvious weakness, which distracts all attention to it and away from that monster that cannot be named.

It was just sex.

Because if it were anything else ...

Rosalie is in big trouble.

And she is going to pay for this.

She already is: ever notice that when you screw up, others can forgive you, but you can't forgive yourself?

Even if Bella forgives Rosalie eventually or even right away, and everybody pretends nothing happens and they get all chummy ...

Ha, ha. That dream is made out of vapor. Bella's hope of best friends sharing coffee in the wonderful morning after is shattered and now dust at her feet.

Rosalie is going to pay for this big-time.

Let's hope that she can pay for it.

Let's hope the cost isn't too high on those who can't.

 **and ps:**

Rosalie is just 18. And this is her first, ever, morning after. You may think _Rosalie_ is the one being petty, and she is, but she's just an 18 year old girl, who is now is as lost as Bella is, and moreso, because she can't show that she's lost, because ... because why? Because she can't and that's all she knows.

The real danger here. The real danger. Rosalie is furious at Bella for asking what if last night was real.

Well: what if last night were real?

That's the real danger that Rosalie didn't answer. Did you notice? Because what if it were real.

How can she face it if it were really real...? And that means for real this time, Rosalie Hale.


	12. Breakfast in Bed

**Chapter Summary:** So here's the chapter where I show what a take-charge woman I am. Where I show Rosalie who the boss is, and that's me, in case you were wondering. Yeah. Me. Take charge and tell Rosalie what's what! ... What? Why are you looking at me like that? It's worked before, ... right?

* * *

I waited, but after a while, after I cried myself out, I couldn't wait anymore.

The water, you know... after waking up when I had to pee, anyway.

"Rosalie," I called out softly.

Silence.

"Rosalie," I said, "I really need to go."

There was a sigh softer than the wind.

The front door opened.

There was a pause.

Rosalie picked me up out of the bed. I was wrapped only in the sheet due to our escapades last night. She brought me past the stove. "Fire's gone out," she mentioned in passing.

"Funny," I remarked without a trace of humor in my voice.

"Yeah," she said, her voice filled with regret.

"Rosalie," I said, "we have to talk."

"Yeah," she said again. "Will you pee first?"

I blushed. "Pee first, then talk," I commanded through my blush. "Don't you go running off after I pee!"

Rosalie brought her hand to my burning cheek and caressed it. "I've got nowhere to run to."

"Rosalie!" I snarled. "If I could smack you, I would! You've got _me_ to run to, don't you know that?"

"I thought you wanted to pee first," she remarked.

I glowered.

"You ready?" she checked.

"I've _been_ ready!" I snapped back.

"Right," she said coolly.

She crouched down forming a natural seat with her spread-open legs, spreading my own legs wide open so that I was squatting over the air.

"I hope you know what you're doing, Miss Hale," I growled, imagining my pee going everywhere, "or else there's going to be a big mess that _you'll_ have to clean!"

"Bella," Rosalie sighed, grasping my tummy and giving it a little squeeze, "just go."

I went.

That sound of pee going right into a chamber pot? Yeah, I knew that sound now.

I blushed as I went.

...

After wiping my privates, Rosalie bathed me.

In silence.

Then she dressed me and stoked the fire in the stove.

Just these simple domestic things reinforced how utterly I depended on her. I could give her a right reaming out, and I was planning to do just that, but then what. "Treat me right, or else!"? Or else what? She could treat me any way she wanted to, and I had no way to make her do anything other than what she chose to do.

"Breakfast?" she offered.

"You stallin'?" I snapped back angrily.

"You hungry?" she demanded.

Rosalie didn't give an inch in her retort. If my words and anger affected her at all, it didn't show.

I swallowed. I was hungry. Starving, in fact. Would it be losing points if I admitted it?

Yes, it would. I wondered if I should answer her, or how, without losing face.

My tummy growled its answer for me.

"God damn it!" I hissed, furious.

I waited for Rosalie to laugh in my face.

She didn't.

"Was that a 'yes,' Bella?"

"Yes," I whispered, ashamed, biting my lip. "It was a 'yes.'"

Rosalie picked me up and sat me down on my chair at the table. I felt her leave me, and I heard her sorting through the consumables in the kitchen area.

"Oatmeal for you this morning, young lady," Rosalie informed me.

"Joy," I remarked.

 _God!_ I so badly wanted coffee. Maybe just so I could throw it in her face!

Nah. If I had coffee I would gulp it down like a man drinking water having just been rescued out in the middle of a desert!

...

"You just can't do ... that, Rosalie," I said quietly as the oatmeal bubbled on the stove.

"Do _what?"_

Rosalie's response was fierce, intense and uncompromising.

Rosalie's response was pure Rosalie Hale.

"That, Rosalie," I said. "You can't do that to me anymore."

 _"WHAT!"_ Rosalie shouted. "You tell me _what!"_

"Jesus, Rosalie," I said, shaking my head, just so slightly.

Rosalie came to the table and bowed my head forward. I snorted.

"I swear to God," I hissed.

"Don't." Rosalie retorted.

I _tsk_ ed. "Are we ever gonna have a normal conversation?" I demanded.

"Define 'normal.'" was her response.

I sighed and shook my head again. I was pleased I had a little bit more control over my body than I had before, but this conversation wasn't going anywhere, and that pissed me off.

"Well," I muttered darkly, "that answers that question."

I fumed. I bet Rosalie was fuming, too.

And this was our wonderful morning after. It was nothing like I imagined it.

"Rosalie," I said, trying again. "You can't make me feel like dirt."

"That's right, Bella," Rosalie said, _"I_ can't make you feel like dirt. Only you can."

 _"Oh, my God!"_ I shouted. "You _know_ what I _mean!"_

 _"No I don't!"_ Rosalie screamed back.

There was a hysterical edge to her voice now that scared me. Rosalie was losing it.

We know what comes after Rosalie loses it.

I took a deep, calming breath, and tried to think how I do this differently to get through to her, because this way sure wasn't working.

"Listen, ..." I began reasonably.

 _"I am,"_ Rosalie hissed intensely.

I laughed softly. Even trying a different approach, a reasonable approach, wasn't working, and screaming fits didn't do anything except lead to shouting matches and tears. Was there no way I could get through to her?

 _Maybe there wasn't, Bella Swan,_ I replied to my own unasked question. Maybe I couldn't get through to her, so how could I proceed?

I didn't know the answer to that question, either.

So, okay, don't get through to her. She wants me to – what did she call it? – acknowledge her. Maybe we can start with that?

"You are," I admitted.

Nothing from her.

"Rosalie," I said softly, and I thought.

Maybe she could help me, I thought.

"Rosalie," I said again, "how long were you outside that door before I called you?"

Rosalie was quiet, then she said. "I don't see what that has to do anything."

She had gotten careful in her response.

"You don't?" I accused.

Rosalie was silent at that.

"Rosalie," I said, "If I hadn't called you, how long were you gonna wait before you came back in?"

I felt Rosalie's cold regard.

"Ro-..."

"Forever," she whispered.

"Why?" I said.

Rosalie was quiet again. "You know I don't like why-questions, Bella," she said.

I wanted to ask _'why'_ to that, but I figured that conversation wouldn't go anywhere.

So I thought through it on my own.

"Because you didn't want to come back," I said.

Rosalie said nothing. She didn't want to come back.

God.

"Why _did_ you come back, then?"

She said nothing to that, either.

"Are you that ... angry with me, Rosalie?" I asked.

Rosalie _tsk_ ed, but she answered softly. "It's not that, Bella; I'm not angry with you."

Well, she's not angry with me, so ...

"You're not angry with me ..." I worked through this out loud. "So, ... you ... hate me." I concluded.

If Rosalie weren't angry with me, and she didn't want to come back, then she hated me.

It had to be, right? She regretted last night and now she wanted nothing more to do with me.

"Jesus, Bella!" Rosalie burst out. "The way your mind works, I'll never understand!"

"Well," I said angrily, "you'd _never_ come back and you're not angry at me. What else am I supposed to think?"

"I did come back, Bella," Rosalie said quietly.

"But only because you _had to,_ Rosalie!"

"'Had to'?"

"Yeah!" I shouted. "You _had to_ because you said it's like your duty or something: me."

"Yes," Rosalie shouted back, "I came back out of duty. You are my responsibility, Bella, ..."

 _"Great!"_ I shouted, furious, and two tears raced down my cheeks.

"But that doesn't mean I hate you, Bella! God!" Rosalie shouted right through my angry retort.

I sniffled. I sniffled again.

"Then why did you come back, Rosalie?" I asked.

Rosalie sighed.

I felt her come right up to me. She pulled my chair back from the table, then she picked me up, wrapped me in her arms, and sat me in her lap as she sat in my chair.

"This isn't going very well, is it, Bella?" Rosalie said quietly.

"You can change that, Rosalie," I said.

"How?"

I sighed. "Say you're sorry."

"And that will make everything better?" Rosalie demanded, dismissal strong in her voice.

"No!" I shouted, and swallowed angrily. Then I whispered sadly: "But at least it's a start, Rosalie Hale. Don't you see that?"

Rosalie pondered this for way longer than I felt she should have.

"It's just that, ..." she began.

"It's ... _'just'?"_ I threw right back at her. I was getting good at Rosalie's game of verbal sparring.

I don't know if I liked that.

That stopped her. Her fingers drummed an impatient tattoo on my shoulder.

Eventually, after a 'polite' wait for form's sake, Rosalie asked: "May I continue?"

I thought about it.

Did I want her to continue?

No, I wanted her to apologize. What I _didn't_ want was for her to explain why she wouldn't, and this was sounding very much like that. I didn't want her explanation as to why she wouldn't apologize; I wanted her to apologize.

So, ... but what? Force it out of her? An apology? Force _anything_ out of Rosalie Hale? Just like force three little words out of her.

Three little words like: 'I love you'?

I sighed.

"No," I said finally. "I don't want you to continue. I want you to say that you're sorry. That's what I want, Rosalie Hale."

"D-..." She began angrily.

"That's what I want," I said in a very small voice, one last time.

Rosalie breathed in my hair, deep, strong, even breaths.

Weighing her options? Considering her next move? I don't know what she was thinking: I wasn't her, that could read my mind and just know, and just have an answer to everything I said. I wasn't her.

So I waited her out.

"I'm sorry," Rosalie said softly, distaste in her voice for saying these words.

But wow.

"You're sorry?" I confirmed.

"Yes," she said softly again, but there was a tightness in this one word, and a tightness in her.

"You're sorry," I considered.

Now what?

I worked it out out loud.

"See, okay," I said to her slowly, "this is the part where I'm supposed to say, 'Aw, it's okay,' but it isn't okay."

Rosalie held me and breathed into me as I spoke.

I can't tell you what a comfort this is to me. If there is only one thing in my whole wide world, now utterly dark, it's the solidness of Rosalie Hale. Even as she torments me and infuriates me, she's still here, holding me.

Does she know how important this is to me?

I don't know. I think so. When she made me tell her why I love her, she wouldn't look at me, not as a person, it was more like she were looking at a bug she wanted to crush, and instead of holding me, as she did now, she was all the way across the table, glaring at me, pure anger written on her face.

Even in my blindness I could still see her look of scorn she had then, it was burned into my memory.

Then, I felt so alone. Now, ...

Now, there was her, holding me into her as I laid out my case against her.

"So, I'm supposed to accept your apology," I said quietly, "but the truth is ..."

I swallowed hard.

"... the truth is," I continued bravely, "is that ... you _hurt_ me, Rosalie Hale. You made me feel small and wretched when all ..."

I took a deep breath.

"When all I wanted was to be loved, 'nd ..."

I blinked away tears.

"And, okay, you don't love me. You can't love me. Yo-you're this perfect ... something, I don't know, perfect ... everything, and I ... well," I broke in quickly to myself, "don't get me started about me, okay, but ..."

I bit my lip.

"But I'm at my weakest, and you ... _attack me by calling me ungrateful when I am? God! I'm so grateful!_ I mean, why would you even look at me, and you do, and why would you even, ... you know, last night, and you said you even wanted to and I _believed you, Rosalie Hale!"_

"I believed you," I said quietly, trying to pull myself up out of my hysterics.

It was working.

Maybe.

"But can you blame me if I couldn't believe what happened last night? Can you blame me for asking you if it was real? If it really happened or was it some stupid dream of some stupid girl who got her hopes up way too high above her head, but, no, you set me in my place right quick, Rosalie Hale, and now you want to say you're sorry and me be okay with it?"

"I didn't wa-..." Her voice, concerned, tried to reach out to me.

I wasn't having any of it.

"Shut up," I said.

She shut up.

"Well," I said, "I don't want to forgive you. At all. I want to hate you. I want to hurt you so bad ..."

I gulped. Should I say 'so badly'? I was pissed at myself that even as I was lashing out at Rosalie, it was her voice in my head correcting the way I spoke.

Like I couldn't do anything good enough for her. Ever.

I pressed on, ignoring my own gaff. "... that you know how badly you hurt me. And then." I gasped. "And then you storm out on me after making me feel like dirt?"

I took a deep, stuttering breath. "I so don't want to forgive you, Rosalie Hale."

Rosalie held me, saying nothing.

Nothing to say? Or did she know how close I was to losing it?

"Rosalie," I said.

I bit my lip.

"Are you truly sorry for hurting me like that?" I dared.

Rosalie breathed, in-and-out, softly in my hair.

"Yes," she said.

The conviction in her voice. That _'yes'_... it was her all.

"I know," I answered.

Then I swallowed hard.

 _Don't cry. Don't cry. Don't cry!_ I repeated this mantra to myself, over and over.

It wasn't helping.

"Bella," Rosalie scolded, and kissed my crown, "you really need to eat." And she picked me up out of her lap and placed me carefully back in my chair she had just vacated.

"I haven't said that I forgive you," I said through a tight throat and tight teeth.

I was just so tight right now.

"You don't have to," Rosalie's voice floated from the kitchen area.

"Because you read my mind or something?" I asked tightly.

"No," Rosalie said. "Because I read your heart."

Oh, God.

Her words hit me like a physical blow, and I bawled so hard, I actually fell out of my chair onto the floor in a heap, a sack of potatoes, that's me: Bella Swan, crying on the floor.

 _"Jesus,"_ Rosalie whispered in annoyance at petty-me and my little emotional outbursts.

But I heard her put something down – the pot of oatmeal? – and she came to me, scooping me up and bringing me back to bed. I cried in her shoulder as she carried me.

She put me on the bed and got me settled. I sniffled a few times, and she wiped my face.

"So," Rosalie said, slightly amused, but also resigned, "breakfast in bed, then?"

"Ha, ha," I sobbed.

"Rosalie," I said as I felt her get up from the bedside, "I forgive you."

There was nothing I could see in this infinite darkness. She was there, not three feet from me, but so inscrutable that she could've been a million miles away.

"I know," she said solemnly.

"Rosalie!" I said quickly.

Okay, was I being clingy?

Okay, so maybe I was being clingy.

Did I care?

"Do you know how they say, you know, how you ... you know, kiss, and make up?" I asked carefully.

"Eheh."

Rosalie's wicked chuckle turned my insides into jello. I felt her sit on the bed next to me. She grabbed me by the front of my shirt and pulled me right up to her. I felt her breath on my face, which was suddenly burning up at the closeness of her.

My stomach growled.

Rosalie snickered at that, but before I could react, she kissed me on the lips, a fast, hard kiss, and set me back down on the bed before sauntering off like I knew she would, just oozing sexiness from every curve – I just knew it – so God-damn pleased with herself, that Rosalie Hale.

I wish I could see her, so I could reach out, grab her, and pull her right back into this bed!

I tried to tell my tell-tale heart to slow down and not beat so hard.

It wouldn't listen.

"Rosalie," I whispered.

"Yes, Bella," Rosalie's voice floated back to me from across the cabin.

"So, ... so ... uh, we kissed, you know?" I remarked.

"Yes, I know," she answered, her voice toying with amusement.

"So," I said, swallowing, "do we make-up now?"

The cabin became silent. I started to sweat, wondering if I had pushed things too far.

Then Rosalie did something entirely unexpected: she started laughing and laughing!

She was laughing at me!

"I don't see what's so funny!" I said, miffed.

Rosalie tried to recover, but a chuckle slipped out there somewhere, and don't think I didn't notice!

"I'm sorry, baby," Rosalie apologized so easily this time. "But don't you think it's a little early in the morning for that? Besides, you need breakfast, you wee skin and bones!"

 _"Hmmphf!"_ I harrumped, and then I laid right into her. "Too early to start to try to patch things up? Why? _You_ seem all fine, Miss Laughy, but making up is a two-way street, lady, and don't you forget it!"

Suddenly Rosalie's joviality went right away. I could feel it.

"Wait," she said, confused. "You mean ... make-up as in ... just making-up and not ..."

She stopped there.

"What else would I mean?" I asked puzzled.

"What else, indeed!" Rosalie exclaimed.

But now, was there a touch of sadness in her voice?

Making up was a lot harder than I thought it'd be.

"Breakfast is ready," Rosalie said, much subdued. "I... I'll bring it to you."

...

Have you ever been served breakfast in bed?

My whole life, I haven't. I haven't had the occasion to. I don't have a husband, and let's be serious, what husband, after the honeymoon, say, serves his wife breakfast in bed? No, that just doesn't happen, right? Married life is this: the man comes home tired, has supper and wakes up to get to work way too early for any romantic foolishness like this.

That's how it was with Pa. That's how it is with everybody. The men worked hard at their jobs, and the women worked harder. Leastways as I saw it, anyway.

So why else would something like breakfast in bed ever happen for me? Because I got sick?

Rich people can afford to get sick. We weren't poor. Well, I mean: we weren't starving. Pa brought in money: he had a respectable job.

It didn't pay much at all. Sheriff of the smallest county in the world, population-wise? But it paid! That was more that most people could say these days, what, with the Depression on.

Now, nobody worked. I mean, I didn't see Rosalie going off to a job as a school marm or something. Some rich guy's secretary, and she'd take dictation, and he'd take her.

Okay. That line of thought was just making me furious with jealousy.

Stop it, Bella, just stop it.

What I was saying was this: Rosalie wasn't working, and I knew I wasn't. Where was all this money coming from? Was Rosalie so open-handed that she'd run out of her cash reserve in a month? And _what_ cash reserve? She done run off with me and my basket of food! I didn't see her with what-all else! Where was this money coming from for her to buy all this stuff?

And as she so brutally reminded me this morning first thing: all for just me.

I'm German. We Germans don't accept favors, nor handouts.

How much do I owe Rosalie? Just the food and tooth powder for these two weeks is how much?

And then the gifts?

How would I ever pay her back? I hadn't a dime to my name now, and what could I do for work? The only work out here for women was: marriage, or teaching at a school, or ... entertaining the miners and farmers.

And that ...

Rosalie interrupted my nervous thoughts. I felt her sit on the bed beside me.

"Oatmeal," she announced.

"Yeah," I said.

"Hey!" she said sharply, "what's this? Why so glum, chum?"

I blinked twice. "Are you ... trying to cheer me up?"

"Well, ..." she demurred, suddenly shy. "Not that I'm any good at it."

"No, no!" I countered vehemently. I caught myself quickly and tried to respond to her in kind, which was quiet and reasonable, ... because that's exactly how I am, right?

Don't answer that.

"I'm just ..." I said. "I'm just glad you're trying, is all."

"Bella, ..." Rosalie began, but then she stopped.

"What?" I said.

"... nothing." She said.

I rolled my eyes. "Oh, please! Don't you 'nothing' me, Rosalie Hale! Spit it out now."

"It's just that I always try," Rosalie said quietly. "I don't ever ... succeed. Not to the level that I know I can, that I know that I should, but I do try, even when I fail so miserably."

Her heart was in her words. I could hear it.

"Who's glum now?" I asked.

"Me," she admitted. "I am."

A sad quiet draped itself over us.

"Eat," she commanded, brusquely, as if angry at the gloom surrounding us.

I heard a spoon scrape against a bowl, then it touched my lips.

 _Great,_ I thought, _oatmeal! That'll cheer me up!_

Nothing like eating gruel in the morning.

But I took a bite to humor her, and, anyway, what else could I do? Say no and throw a tantrum and starve myself until she served me eggs benedict?

I've never had eggs benedict. I bet Rosalie had them every day, served to her with a silver spoon, I'm sure.

I expected a tasteless morass, but a funny thing happened. What I ate was actually quite good: sweet, but not oversweet, except sudden bursts of fruitiness that surprised me.

"I put raisins in the oatmeat," Rosalie explained.

"I noticed," I said after swallowing.

Rosalie raised a cup to my lips, and I smelled the Earl Grey, but before I took a sip, I said: "You're trying."

"Hm?" Rosalie said, distracted.

"You put in raisins for me," I explained. "You're trying."

"All the time," Rosalie replied.

"For me," I added.

Rosalie sighed. "Nobody else here," she said, impatience creeping into her voice.

It was like she was saying: _'Why doesn't she just eat her breakfast? But now my efforts are just going to waste because of all this serious talk!'_

I bit my lip. I wasn't done, even if she wanted me to be. "If anybody else were here, would you try for them?"

"Bella!" Rosalie _tsk_ ed. "Nobody else is here, okay?"

Her patience was at an end, it seemed.

And she didn't answer my question.

She nudged the tea against my lips, and I took a small sip. The tea was hot, but it was good: it cleared my palate for the next bite of oatmeal.

Breakfast in bed. I never had it before Rosalie, and now she was spoon-feeding me oatmeal and serving me Earl Grey tea.

I bet Kings and Queens didn't get service like this.

I took the next bite of oatmeal, and Rosalie raised the cup of tea to my lips, but something felt ... wrong ... inside me, suddenly.

I felt hot. Really hot.

"Rosalie," I said quickly. I was burning up! "Can you ... _nnn ..._ can you get this blanket off me? I'm hot!"

"Bella!" Rosalie exclaimed, suddenly alarmed. "Your heart! What's happening?"

"I'm hot! _I'm hot!"_ I cried desperately.

There was a crash and a sound of splashing: my bowl of oatmeal landed somewhere in the cabin some distance from us. I don't know. I don't care. I was sweating bullets now, and I couldn't breathe, although I was panting to save my life! Rosalie's hand covered my forehead, and it felt like she was branding me with an icy flame. Her other hand just ripped my shirt right off me, and still it wasn't enough. I couldn't breathe. Everything felt funny, like it was going away.

"God damn it, Bella!" Rosalie shouted. "What's happening?"

"Hot!" I whimpered.

"Shit!" she shouted as she tore my bottoms and panties right off me. "Shit! Shit! _Shit! Breathe,_ God damn it, Bella! Just breathe!"

"Uh!" I cried.

I thought I was breathing, but I couldn't even concentrate on what Rosalie was saying. I was desperately trying to make everything okay again, but the thing was: everything was slipping away.

And I couldn't stop it.

Rosalie jerked me down so I was flat on the bed, but that just made everything worse. Blackness engulfed me in my darkness, and all I could here was my desperate pants as I tried to gulp in air that tasted of nothing.

That tasted of death.

 _"SHIT!"_ Rosalie cried.

She straddled me quickly. "Look at me, Bella. _Look at me!"_

"Can't see!" I gasped. It came out as a whisper.

 _"LOOK AT ME!_ God damn it, Bella! Stay with me!" Rosalie shouted, ignoring my protest.

I tried to focus.

There was nothing to focus on.

 _Snap-snap!_ Rosalie snapped her fingers twice, right in front of my face. That surprised me out of the black pool, grabbing my attention for an instant, but then I felt myself sliding right back down into the pitch.

"Shit!" Rosalie cried. "Bella, it's the venom! If I breathe for you, I'll just be putting more venom into you! You have to breathe, sweetie! You _have_ to breathe!"

I breathed. I mean: I grabbed at the air for all I was worth.

I guess I'm pretty worthless.

"Fuck!" Rosalie spat angrily. She pinched my nose closed, put her lips over mine, and breathed into me.

I now knew what it was to breathe. Her breath was pure energy; an electric shock coursed through my body.

It wasn't enough for Rosalie. With her other hand she pressed down on my chest in a rapid _one-two-three-four_ beat. Her lips didn't leave mine, but she breathed in a strong, powerful in-breath, right around my face, and then pressing her lips back firmly into mine she breathed the air into me again.

The tiniest trickle of liquid accompanied her breath, and – _zaaap!_ – my whole body shuddered in ecstasy as it trickled down my throat into my lungs as I absorbed it into my being.

I coughed twice, hard.

"That's it, baby," Rosalie said, enunciating each word precisely, but her encouragement did not alter her one bit. She continued breathing into me; she continued beating my heart, or, if not beating it, helping it along anyway.

The episode came and went. I don't know how long, but it was up to a point where I was slipping into the darkness, and the _now_ of me, lying in bed, gasping, sweating profusely, extremely embarrassed.

Oh, and of course I was naked, again. But not like last night.

Rosalie, sensing my recovery, eased her lips off mine, but I could tell she was watching me like a hawk. Her hand remained on my forehead and on my chest, even though she wasn't beating my heart anymore.

She breathed out a long, relieved, albeit cautious, sigh.

"C-cold!" I whispered.

From burning up hot, I was suddenly cold and exhausted.

"Okay, baby," Rosalie said. "I have to change the sheets: they're damp and are making you colder. How are you otherwise? You seem ... recovered?"

"C-c-c-c-c-c-" My teeth were chattering I was so cold, and my whole body was shivering violently.

"Okay, baby," Rosalie said. "Okay, just ... hang in there. I'll get you warmed up as quickly as I can!"

She was good for her word. She ripped the sheets off the bed in rapid order and left me on the bed as she whisked them and herself away.

Naked, cold ... _freezing ..._ just nothing left in me to fight my weakened state, but still painfully aware what a ... liability I was, you know? Rosalie had to do everything for me, and I couldn't even try to help now! All I could do is lie there and shiver helplessly, my teeth loudly chattering away nonstop, and I thought to myself... _you big baby! You worthless piece of shit!_

I hated myself.

"Puh-p-p-p-pleeease!" I gasped.

"Coming, sweetie!" Rosalie called out from midway in the cabin. "Coming!"

How come she was always so darn fast, but this time it felt like she was taking her own sweet time?

Or were the seconds crawling along too slowly now? Was that it?

Rosalie was back in a flash. She wiped me down quickly with a towel, then covered me. The sheet that went under me, and the sheet the covered me were crisp, clean, – importantly: dry – and to my surprise: super warm.

She must've thrown them on the stove for a bit.

"Uh!" I huffed, surprised.

"Too much?" Rosalie asked.

"N-no!" I said. "It's just that it feels so nice and warm!"

"That's good," Rosalie said. "Feeling better?"

"Yes," I said, "a little bit."

Rosalie's hand rested on top of my tummy, the sheet between us.

I shivered violently. Her cold hand stung me.

She signed. "I'll ... get you some new pjs, okay, sweetie?"

Her hand slid off me and the bed shifted as she left me.

"Rosalie?" I called softly.

"Yes, Bella," she said, her voice soft.

"I almost died just now, didn't I?"

"Yes," she said. "It was a near thing."

I breathed a moment, pondering this.

"Why?" I asked.

"It's the ven-..."

"No," I said. "That's not what I'm asking. What I mean is: why did you bother saving me?"

Rosalie was quiet at that. After a moment, she said: "I don't understand your meaning."

"You were so desperate while I was ... dying. Why, Rosalie. Why. Why do you care?"

Rosalie said nothing.

"What happens to you when I really do die and you can't revive me?" I asked softly. "You gonna kidnap another girl and make her fall in love with you?"

"That's not even funny, Bella," Rosalie answered tightly.

"I'm not trying to be funny," I said seriously.

"Then what are you trying to be?" she demanded.

"I'm just wondering ... no," I said. "I'm worried. I'm worried about you. How are you going to go on after I die?"

"I just will. I don't have any other option," Rosalie said.

"But, like ... how? What're you going to do every day? Nothing? Anything? What?"

"Bella," Rosalie _tsk_ ed angrily. "It doesn't matter!"

"Does it matter _now?"_ I countered, just as angrily.

Silence.

I realized I could read her silences now.

"It matters now," I stated.

Nothing from Rosalie.

"When are you gonna see that?" I said.

Rosalie said nothing.

I heard her turn from me. I heard her leave me.

Rustling.

Then.

Rosalie, sitting beside me on the bed.

"I'll put these pjs on you now, okay?" she said.

"Okay," I said.

How could I reach through to her?

I don't know.

I felt so lost now.

Rosalie removed the warm sheet covering me and quickly dressed me, first the top, then the bottom. I shivered a bit from the air from the cabin wafting over me, but otherwise I was a rag doll in her powerful hands the effortlessly lifted me up and moved my arms and legs around as she put the clothes on me.

She laid me back down onto the bed and covered me again with the warm sheet.

"Now what?" I asked.

What do you do after you almost die ... again?

"Now you eat," she ordered.

"Why?" I said.

Rosalie _tsk_ ed. "Stubborn," she whispered angrily.

"Rosalie," I _tsk_ ed myself. "What's the _point!_ Give me a reason."

"To eat?" Rosalie asked surprised. "Aren't you hungry?"

"No," I answered, then I thought about it. "I don't know. I don't care."

Rosalie drummed her fingers on the bed softly. I felt the vibration go right up through my spine. I felt it, the drumming, in my skull.

But not in my heart.

"So you want me to give you a reason to care? Is that it?" Rosalie demanded.

"Yes," I fumed, "that's it. Just like I said."

"Bella," Rosalie said with deliberation, "you've lost an alarming amount of weight. You have nothing whatsoever from which to draw to fight off sickness, even to recuperate. You need to eat simply to survive now, and, God _damn_ it, Bella!" Her voice became heated and passionate. "Just like I thought – _just_ like I _thought! –_ you are losing whatever resistance to the venom that you did have! You need to God-damn get back up on your own two feet or ..." She paused and drew a breath. "Or you may never get up again. Do you understand _me!"_

"I understand," I said quietly.

"Good," she growled, and carefully sat me up.

"But it doesn't mean anything," I said, and I blinked away a tear.

"What?" she said coldly.

"I asked you 'why' and you said because I have to survive. You want me to eat to survive. So what? Who cares? _Why,_ Rosalie? Why do you want me to survive?"

"Bella, ..." Rosalie started angrily.

"You tell me why right now!" I spat.

"Or else?" she said.

"O-or..." I gasped. "Or else you can go to God damn hell, and you can take your God damn oatmeal with you, okay, Rosalie Hale? That's ... that's what."

And now I was crying. Two bitter tears slowly slid their way down my cheeks, and I sniffled violently.

"So it comes to this," Rosalie said.

I sniffled again.

"I can't go to hell, Bella," she said sadly. "I'm already there."

I lost it. _"Well, then fuck y-..."_

Rosalie's hand pressed itself firmly over my mouth.

"You said you wouldn't say that anymore, Bella," Rosalie said, disappointed.

"Newoo ed oh ooo!" I screamed into her hand: _You said so, too!_ _"Ut oo id ooooo!" But you did, too!_

I was screaming into her hand, and the tears were now free-falling, spilling onto then over her hand covering my mouth.

"So I'm not perfect," Rosalie said, removing her hand from my mouth.

I sniffled snot back into my nose and licked it off my lips.

Lovely. I know.

"But you said you are perfect!" I said, petulantly. "You ... you _liar!"_

"Yeah," Rosalie sighed and got up from the bed. She returned and dabbed a hanky over my face, then held it to my nose.

I blew into the hanky without her order. We knew the drill by now, I guess.

After I cleared out my head, Rosalie cast the hanky aside and pulled me down into the bed.

She crawled under the sheet herself.

"Am I too cold for you?" she asked tentatively.

"Never," I averred.

"Except when I am," she countered regretfully.

I sighed. "Hold me," I said. That's the only answer I could think of to the stupid shit she was saying.

Rosalie pulled me into her.

This.

This was real.

Everything else wasn't.

"You hungry?" she asked.

 _Pushy bitch!_ I grumbled to myself.

"For the oatmeal on the floor?" I asked sharply.

"Plenty left cooling in the pot," she countered coolly.

"Huh," I said, marveling. "... because you're thoughtful like that."

"Yes," she said simply.

"So," she picked right off where she left off. "Shall I fetch some more oatmeal for you, hm? It's really good, hm?"

Did I mention Rosalie is pushy?

"I guess," I said listlessly.

I didn't feel her leave me, however. That's how the weariness overcame me.

I slept in Rosalie's arms.

* * *

 **A/N:** How hard is it to say: "I love you"?

How hard is it ... not to?

 **ps:** The violent reaction Bella had here during breakfast where her heart nearly stopped is known in medical circles as a vagal response. Your body slows down when digesting. Right after a heart attack, your body can slow down so much your heart stops and your blood pressure goes to zero. The vagal response. I can't really recommend it. The primary response is to have the victim lay flat and introduce oxygen: "ABC" – Airway, Breathing, Circulation. And keep them present: have them look at you.

Just like Rosalie did for Bella.


End file.
